Don't Joke With Me
by rastarabbit
Summary: Continuation of "Rachel's Story". Rachel finds herself pregnant with the Joker's child, as the Joker slips further into madness. Set pre-and post-Dark Knight. Warnings: all kinds of sex, violence, disturbing themes to come. Usual disclaimers apply.
1. Panic Attack

Rachel Dawes arrived at her office promptly at 8:00 a.m. and smiled to see the chaotic stacks of papers and files that now covered her formerly pristine desk; lots of paper meant lots of work, and she found great comfort in that. Just then, she heard her office door swing open.

"Uh, Rachel? Do you have a minute?" Harvey Dent filled the doorway, a concerned look on his handsome face. He was using his business voice.

"Sure, Harvey, what's up?" Rachel asked, easily faking good cheer.

"Rachel, I hate to have to say this, but your desk is out of control. You've got more work there than three people could get done, and I can't let you go on like this." Harvey forced himself to look her in the eye. He hated having to confront Rachel about anything, especially something so…mundane; but, this was yet another sign of Rachel's refusal to deal with a difficult situation.

"You're going to have to delegate at least half of those case files, and get Cindy to help you with the rest. If you don't, something's going to get overlooked or mishandled, and we can't afford to have sloppy work coming out of this office." It was the harshest thing he had ever said to Rachel regarding her work performance, and it didn't come easily to him. The fact that she was his girlfriend made it even more difficult—he was fairly sure she would take it out on him after hours.

"Of course, Harvey, you're absolutely right. I _am_ out of control, whee! I'm going to let Gotham's criminals run free in the street because a few papers got filed under 'Mc' instead of 'Mac'." Rachel made a frenetic gesture with her hands in the air, before scowling reproachfully at Gotham's DA.

Harvey sighed. He came in to her office, carefully closed the door behind him and went up to Rachel, taking her in his arms.

"I didn't say _you_ were out of control, I was talking about the absurd amount of work you've taken upon yourself to handle. It's too much, surely you can see that."

"Harvey, please. I know I have a lot going on, but it's…it's the way I want it right now. I'll spend this afternoon getting organized, and then I'll have Cindy and Dave give me a hand. Everything will be perfectly under control by the end of the week, I promise."

Rachel looked into Harvey's worried eyes and smiled. "I _will_." she assured him.

"Ok. I just…I know it's hard for you, Rach. I know…" he trailed off, awkwardly.

Rachel continued to smile and nodded. "I'm ok, Harvey, I really am. Just knowing you're here for me…I'm fine."

Harvey nodded doubtfully. She didn't seem fine, hadn't for…a long time. But he forced a supportive smile and said "I'll leave you to it, then" and left.

Bruce Wayne sat at his breakfast table with orange juice and the morning paper. Another weird heist in the jewelry district, another "Joker" card left at the scene. No injuries, but…it was getting strange.

"What do _you_ think about this Joker character, Alfred?" he asked his long-time butler, tapping the headline curiously.

"You mean the one that kidnapped Miss Rachel, sir?"

"God, you don't think there's more than one, do you?" Bruce asked. Alfred laughed in response.

"No, sir, I certainly hope not. I don't have enough information to form an opinion, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem, isn't it? We…well, the police…can't seem to get a single piece of concrete evidence linking _him_ to any crime. He's….what's the word, Alfred?"

"Elusive, sir?"

"Yeah, elusive. I think Batman needs to get involved."

"Probably, sir. I do hope that you'll be careful—you know how it is with rabid dogs."

"Huh?" Bruce asked, bewildered.

"Well, a rabid dog may seem all right, normal I mean, from a distance—might even act all friendly-like. But when he runs up to greet you, you notice he's frothing at the mouth, and next thing you know, he's bitten you and infected you with his disease. A deadly disease, sir."

Bruce considered the analogy. "I don't think there's anything normal about the Joker's behavior so far." he said.

"But not frothing at the mouth yet, eh, sir?"

"Not yet, Alfred. And Batman needs to step in before he does."

"Very good, sir."

Rachel sat behind her desk, trying to let go of her irritation with Harvey. He was absolutely right, of course, but that didn't make her any less annoyed. Her work was her one outlet, her safety net, for dealing with her grief and sorrow, and if she wanted to pile her desk high with cases, she should be allowed to do so, undisturbed. She wasn't going to drop the ball. She was dealing with…controlled chaos. She smiled; Jack would laugh at that term. _Jack...Where are you?_

Suddenly, Rachel's stomach churned, and she felt a hot spasm of nausea well up in her throat. She hastily grabbed her metal trash can and prepared to heave into it; but the feeling passed, leaving her sweating and hot. She put her face in her hands and fought off a bit of panic; what the hell was the matter with her? These little spells had been going on for three days, and she had no explanation. She wasn't sick; it wasn't food poisoning. Panic attacks. It must be panic attacks. Dr. Rose had said that was often part of post-traumatic stress disorder; the fact that she didn't believe she was actually suffering from that condition didn't matter. It was the only logical explanation. Well, the only one she was willing to consider.

Rachel awoke the next day, not to her shrill alarm clock's call, but to the thick feeling of bile rising in her throat, quickly turning to nausea. It was that which compelled her to leave her cozy bed and run to the bathroom, retching as she went. She bent over the toilet, heaving, but nothing came out except for a small amount of clear liquid.

Rachel felt better, and, once assured there was no more to come, she brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. She peered at herself in the mirror, disgusted by her appearance. She was pale and drawn, and her hair was wild. She ran her fingers through it, but gave up and headed for the kitchen. She started to put on a pot of coffee, but the smell of the raw grounds almost brought back the nausea.

"This is not good." she thought. Not good at all.

Rachel wanted nothing more than to hop in the shower, get dressed and head off to the office, ready to tackle her many briefs and cases with a clear head. Instead, she sat dully on the couch in her slip, trying to remember when her last period was. She was absolutely trying NOT to think about the three days she had gone without taking her birth control pills during her time with the Joker.

Talk about a mistake. In the early days, she had been so distraught by her situation that she got completely off track with her pills, and had foolishly assumed that their residual effect would carry her through a few missed days. It was beginning to look like that wasn't the case. She should have asked the Joker to use condoms…but how likely would it have been that he would have complied? In those days, he was not only very scary to her, but in such a state of mania, that there would have been no way she could have even broached the subject.

So, here she was. Very possibly eight weeks pregnant with the Joker's child. And Harvey blissfully under the impression that Rachel's terrible "ordeal" was well behind them.

"I can't deal with this right now. I have too much to do," she told herself. "I'll stop at the drugstore at lunch and get a pregnancy test." Feeling slightly better for making a plan, she headed off to the bathroom to get ready for her day.

Rachel found it hard to concentrate at the morning meeting. Harvey was ticking off the latest cases that needed her attention, and she was dutifully making notes on her pink legal pad, but every so often she would realize that she had lost the thread of the conversation and her notes were nearly useless gibberish. Oh, well, she'd get him to go over it again later.

At lunchtime, Rachel prepared to run out the door before Harvey could catch her; it wasn't that she didn't want to eat with him, but she had more pressing matters to deal with. She almost made it down the hall, only to look up to see the tall, dark figure of Bruce Wayne, smiling and walking towards her.

"Rachel! Just the lady I wanted to see. Are you free for lunch?"

"Oh, gosh, Bruce, I'd love to, but I'm so behind in everything, and I have errands to run, could we make it another day?"

"Well…sure. I just thought…it's been so long since we've had a chance to catch up. I…I miss you, Rachel."

Rachel nodded understandingly; she really needed to get out of the building before Harvey came around looking for her.

"I know, Bruce, I completely agree. This just isn't a good day for it—let's try later in the week, ok?" She smiled brightly and squeezed Bruce's arm, and fled as if a demon were nipping at her heels. Bruce stared after her, puzzled, then headed off to find Harvey.

Dent was still in his office, on the phone. When Bruce opened his door and mimed a knock in a "May I come in?" gesture, Harvey, motioned for him to sit down.

He finished the conversation and greeted Bruce.

"Good to see you, Bruce. Why don't I grab Rachel and we'll go to lunch?"

"Yeah, I already tried that—well, not the grabbing part—but she said she had too much to do, and ran off to run errands. You're really loading her up with the work, aren't you?"

"No, Bruce, actually I'm trying to take the load off of her. But…I think it's her way of coping…or just avoiding dealing with her situation…."

Bruce nodded. Rachel had been uncommunicative with him ever since she returned from her captivity with the Joker. Suddenly, Harvey asked "Do _you _have any idea what's going on with her?"

"Me? No, Harvey, we've barely spoken to each other since she…got back. I've called her a few times, and she always has an excuse not to talk; says she'll call me back, and never does. That's one of the reasons I came down here today—I thought I could corner her and try to get her to open up a little. She's my oldest and dearest friend, and I really want to be there for her, but she's just not having it."

Harvey nodded absently.

"You know she still claims she has no memory of the ordeal, don't you?" he asked quietly.

"I…didn't know where that stood."

"Yes, according to Rachel, the Joker just appeared at her apartment one day, and the next day she was in a cab heading back to my place. Doesn't remember a thing in between, even though she was gone almost four weeks. Does that sound…plausible…to you?"

"Well, Harvey, I'm no psychiatrist. I know trauma can cause memory loss, and sometimes we…block out painful memories as a defense mechanism. But this does sound really extreme. What does her doctor say?"

"Oh, you know how it is, confidentiality concerns. She won't tell me a thing. We've even been going to sessions together, and all Rachel does is end up talking about needing time to get herself back together…she refuses to take medication, and she rejects all the ideas for therapy that Dr. Rose comes up with. It's like…" Harvey hesitated. "It's like she wants to pretend nothing ever happened, even though the only way she'll ever get over it is to face up to it and deal with it. And she knows that, if the cops ever catch the bastard, that we'll need her testimony to put him away."

Bruce nodded sympathetically. "Listen, Harvey, if there's anything I can do, or if you just want to go out and get loaded some night…I'm up for that."

Harvey genuinely smiled for the first time that day. "That actually sounds like a really good idea, Bruce. I'll take you up on it some time."

The two men shook hands, and Bruce departed, feeling more worried about Rachel than ever.

Rachel hopped in her car and headed to a drugstore on the other side of town, hoping she wouldn't run into anyone she knew, and that no one would recognize her from her recent notoriety as a hostage victim.

The pregnancy tests were grouped together in an ominous little section of the drugstore, between condoms and feminine care products; as if making a point of reminding errant females of how careless they had been. Rachel picked through the different brands, trying to make a sensible consumer choice, but ended up grabbing the most expensive one that promised "quick, accurate results", and scurried back to her apartment as quickly as she could without risking a speeding ticket.

She headed to her bathroom, tore open the package and read the instructions. "Looks fairly simple." she thought. She peed on the stick, and set her kitchen timer. When it went off in minutes that felt like hours, there was a stark, simple "plus" sign revealed in blue against creamy white.

She stared at the piece of plastic that had just ruined her life and sighed.

_Jack. You fucker. What the hell am I supposed to do now._

Rachel went back to the office, feeling numb. She couldn't deal with this. Not now. Maybe not ever. Maybe if she was lucky, a taxi would run her over on the way back to work and save her the trouble of killing herself. Great, she thought in bitter amusement., that's something Jack would say. The demon child is already taking control from within.…

She finished the day on autopilot, and fended off Harvey's request that they have dinner together, claiming a headache. Which wasn't even a lie, her head really did hurt. She just knew the source of the pain didn't come from sinus pressure.

Rachel sat in her living room, music on, lights off, trying to compose her thoughts. She basically had two choices, with a sub-choice for option two. Option one, she could take a trip to visit her old friend from college in New Jersey, and have the whole problem go away, without Harvey or anyone else ever knowing about it.

Or, she could go through with the pregnancy and face the horrors that _that _would bring—Harvey's distress and possible departure, media interest, and her own disastrous emotional baggage of raising the child of a man she couldn't have, and who would never be involved with his child. Or, sub-option "A", she could give the child away.

That would only intensify the heartbreak, though. It really looked like option number one had a lot going for it. But…she really wished she could talk to the Joker.

"Dammit, it's your kid, Jack. What do you want me to do about it?" she thought in despair. She had absolutely no way to contact him, no phone, no email, no address. She was quite sure he kept up with the news—maybe she could stand behind one of the field reporters on the scene at one of his crimes and hold up a sign saying "Joker—please call Rachel" and hope that he would see it. Ha. No, she had only one hope, and it was a slim one—maybe if she went back to the site of his old building on the east side—maybe word would travel back to him. Maybe he would hear that she needed him.

Rachel called in the next day, in spite of her promise to Harvey that she would get everything under control, and fished her mace spray out of a drawer, and headed out of town. She arrived at the heap of wreckage that used to house the Joker's operation; there was caution tape and a falling-over chain link fence surrounding it, but no watchmen or workmen in sight. She shivered; the weather was starting to get chilly. She felt extremely vulnerable, exposed, wandering aimlessly around in such a bad neighborhood, but she hoped it would be the very fact of her out-of-place appearance that might get the word through to Jack. But, she only saw a couple of broken-down homeless guys, and finally got back in her car and headed home.


	2. Ghosts

The Joker lounged easily on a ledge several stories above the street. He sat sideways, his long legs stretched out before him, binoculars in one hand and a high-powered rifle in the other. Heights never bothered him. Wearing a subdued jacket and slacks, he blended well against the neutral shade of brick, so even wearing his garish makeup, he didn't worry about being spotted. He had two men in his sights, and he was waiting for them to make a move. Finally, the first took the second around to the back of his car and pumped two shots into his chest.

The Joker grinned.

_Nice when they do the work for you._

He took aim with the rifle, and, squeezing the trigger, put a bullet through the first man's head, dropping him almost exactly on top of the previous victim. The Joker started humming cheerfully, clambered down the fire escape, strode across the vacant lot and, with the help of one of his "employees", loaded both bodies into the trunk of the car. The Joker removed a number of small bags of jewels from the back seat, and indicated to his man that he was to dispose of the car, and its contents. He then got into his own vehicle, and drove away; he had an appointment with Maroni, although Maroni didn't know it yet….

***

The Joker ambled into Maroni's office, unconcerned with the three body guards that attempted to halt his progress because the first one was being firmly dragged along under the Joker's arm, a shiny switchblade pressed to his throat. The second and third men had nervously looked at each other, and settled for following the intruder into their boss' office.

"Salvatore! How the hell are you?" the Joker exclaimed heartily, easily holding the struggling man in a tight grip, well aware that a stream of blood had started to flow from his neck.

"I know I should have called ahead, but I was just so darned excited about my news that I couldn't wait! Do you have a few minutes for me?"

"Yeah. Of course I do, Jack." answered the mob boss wryly. "Look, let 'im go, will ya, he's bleeding all over the new rug." Maroni shook his head at the Joker's brashness; he loved the guy, but you could never count on him to act right.

The Joker released his captive, who shot him a killer look and ran to doctor his bloody wound. Sal Maroni indicated to his other two men that they were to leave him and his guest alone.

"Come on, Joker, whaddya have to make such an entrance for? I'd of let you in, you know that."

"Aw, you still love me, don't you, Sal? Even though I've screwed you out of a few hundred thousand dollars worth of diamonds?"

"You've screwed me out of a lot of stuff, Jack, but I can't stay mad at you. It's dem beautiful eyes, they get me every time."

The Joker fixed the mobster with a mocking grin. "Glad to see I've still got it, Sal. So, you want to hear my news or not?"

"Can't wait."

"I caught your boys double-crossing you." the Joker stated in a sing-song tone.

"Who?" Maroni asked, suddenly concerned.

"You know—Maxwell, and the Russian."

"Really? Rubinov? What happened?"

"Those gems that were supposed to go on the open market—Maxwell offered 'em to Rubinov. And Rubinov _shot_ him." The Joker offered this bit of information delicately, as though loathe to reveal such disappointing news to his host.

"So, where's Rubinov?"

"Uh—_I _shot _him_."

"Where are the gems?"

The Joker pulled the bags out of his jacket and threw them on Maroni's desk.

"Looking out for you, Sally."

Maroni hesitated a minute, then opened one of the bags, and using a handy jeweler's loupe, examined a sampling of the gems with a practiced eye.

"Why'd you do this for me, Jackie?"

"Because, you're my absolute FAVORITE mobster in the whole world!! And I really did kind of, uh, overstep my bounds with that last deal and I wanted to make it up to you. And, because I want you to do something for me." The Joker licked his lips in anticipation, and sat down across from Maroni's desk.

"What's that?"

"Help me find Batman."

The older man smiled smugly.

"What makes you think I got any information about dat?"

"You always do, Sal, you always do. I want to see him, up close. So far, my little, um, _excursions _don't seem to have interested him. But next time your guys pull a job, I want to know about it. I want to…be there."

Maroni took out a cigar, and started preparing it for smoking. He cast a sideways look at the Joker.

"What makes you think the Batman guy would pay _us _a visit?"

"You're the big time, Sal. I think Harvey Dent has Batman giving him some help, and you know how interested Dent is in shutting down your operation."

"You think I'm worried? But, hey, if he wants to play, who am I to deny him a little fun. And you want to be there. Well, I could arrange that. In fact, I could use your help. You're so good at…planning."

"Anything I can do, you just name it."

Salvatore Maroni appraised the young man sitting before him; that crazy shit he put on his face drove him nuts, but it still didn't detract from his attractiveness as far as he was concerned. He remembered the first time he'd seen him, a tall, skinny fifteen year old boy with dark blonde hair falling around his scarred, but handsome face, hanging around the local park's public restroom with the other male hustlers waiting for a john. Jack was the only one who didn't look like a fag, the only one that looked like he had a brain and maybe was healthy enough to assume he wasn't strung out on drugs.

"Well, now that you mention it…there's something you could do for me…right now."

"What's that?"

"You know." The mobster looked at the Joker with a soft smile, and put the cigar down.

_Yeah, I know, Sally. It's still like that between us, isn't it? You just can't let me forget…._

The Joker shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Aren't I getting a little old for your tastes? Aren't there legions of teenage boys out there that need a father figure?" The Joker wasn't intimidated by the older man, but he well appreciated the importance of staying in his good graces.

"Come on Jackie, don't play hard to get with _me._ Now, c'mere." The request was no longer strictly optional.

The Joker sighed, stood up and took off his jacket. He went around Maroni's desk and gracefully dropped to his knees in front of him. Maroni took the Joker's face in his hands and planted a sloppy kiss on his scarred lips. The Joker didn't try to resist, but neither did he respond in kind. The mobster gave up trying to rouse any affection from the younger man, and just unzipped his pants. The Joker leaned forward and did what was expected of him.

It was an old story between them, one which had long ago become more about power than sex. Maroni liked to remind the Joker where he came from, where he'd been and exactly what Maroni had done for him. And the Joker liked having a little back-up blackmail material on Salvatore. The mob didn't take kindly to their men indulging in homosexual activities; neither would Sal's wife and kids. It was an oddly symbiotic relationship that served both men's needs, in a very on-again, off-again way.

Maroni settled back in his desk chair, enjoying the younger man's grudging attention. When he finished, the Joker sat back on his heels and spat onto Maroni's floor in disgust. Maroni ignored the gesture, and just said, pleased, "Nobody does that like you, Joker."

"Nice to have marketable skills." the Joker remarked, dryly.

"Yeah, women never seem to get the rhythm right…"

"You're too picky, Maroni. I never noticed that to be the case."

Maroni reached out to affectionately tousle the Joker's green-tinged blonde hair; but after touching the greasy tangles, he pulled his hand back in distaste.

"You need a shower, kid. Whassa matter, you got no shampoo at your place?"

"No hot water. That's ok, Sal, next time I'll spruce up just for you." The Joker rose to his feet in a fluid movement.

"And, by the way, it wasn't never about how old you were," added Maroni. "It was _you_, kid—it's always been about _you_. Them crazy fuckin' scars…" He reached up to take the Joker's face in his hand, but the Joker shot Maroni a warning glance as he backed away to get his jacket. "You're an old pervert, Sal, just admit it."

Maroni gave a low laugh. "Yeah, but a devoted one. It's gonna break my heart the day you settle down wit' some girl and I don't get to see you no more."

"I wouldn't worry, I don't seem to have much luck with the ladies these days, not like you. Speaking of which, how's Missy, or have you traded her in for a later model?" the Joker asked, referring to Maroni's blonde mistress.

"Aw, she's still around; what about you, didn't you have some girl stayin' wid you for a while?"

"She's gone. Long gone." The Joker looked distant for a moment, then he brightened and said "I'll give you a call about our little deal, ok Sal?"

"Yeah, please do. Always a pleasure, Jack."

The Joker scowled back at him, then just turned and slipped out before any of Sal's bodyguards had a clue.

***

The Joker was having a leisurely dinner alone. He was tired; dealing with Maroni stressed him out more than he cared to admit. He always felt like he was going before the pope, or his own hated father, asking for favors. Maroni really did have a soft spot in his heart for Jack, but he knew that he was likely to be indulgent only up to a point. So far, he had managed to play it pretty well, but the Joker had never really been a part of Maroni's "family" and thus was able to act independently; but neither did he have the protection family members were afforded. They had long played the parts of lazy old father lion and brash young cub, but Jack was done. He was ready to take control.

Suddenly, the restaurant door opened and one of Jack's men came furtively skulking up to his table. "Boss, I gotta tell ya something." he whispered hoarsely.

"Well, Ernie, I'm sure it's of monumental importance since you're interrupting my dinner with your ugly face. What's the matter?"

"That broad…the pretty one you had living wit' you for a while…they seen her…they seen her down by the old place…"

"Wait a minute…you mean, Rachel? Rachel was on 23rd Street?" The Joker stared at his henchman in disbelief. "What was she doing there?"

"Nothin'. Just lookin around, like she was waitin' fer somebody." The man was getting more agitated by the minute.

"Ok, Ernie, ok. You did the right thing, coming to me. Now, go back home. Your mommy's waiting for you."

"Sure t'ing, boss." He limped back out, grateful to have suffered nothing more than a couple of insults.

The Joker frowned at his food. _Rachel…damn it_; _what the hell could you want with me at this late date? Isn't fucking my mind up beyond all recognition enough? _

He thought of ignoring the information—he had planned never to see her again, no matter how hard it would be; but he had a feeling his curiosity would get the better of him….

***

That Saturday morning, Rachel entered her apartment with a bag of groceries and her cell phone in hand. In an attempt to mollify Harvey, she had invited him for dinner that night. There had been no sign of the Joker thus far, and she was still having trouble deciding what to do about her predicament. She hoped that if she could have a quiet evening with Harvey, she would be able to sort out her many conflicting emotions and finally figure out what to do.

She stopped short when she spied the Joker lounging on her couch, TV on, greasepaint smeared messily and his clothes somewhat unkempt. She was displeased to notice that his hair hung in lank, greasy, greenish-tinged strands around his face.

"Basic cable!" he scolded sourly as she approached him. "I would think a high powered DA like you could afford the premium package."

"Assistant DA." she reminded him, refusing to betray her excitement at seeing him.

"Yeah, well I can arrange a quick promotion for you, if you like. Want me to take ol' Harvey out of the picture?" he asked brightly.

Rachel ignored that remark.

"Jack, thank God you're here, I need to talk to you." She set the grocery bag down on the counter and took a seat in an easy chair across from her guest.

"I gathered." The Joker put his feet on her coffee table and clasped his hands behind his head. "If this is just a booty call, I gotta tell you, I resent the implication that I'm so easy."

"A…what?" Rachel asked bewildered.

"You know, calling me up just for a quick roll in the hay." He cast his eyes to heaven in mock indignation. "I have standards, I'll have you know."

"Jack…"

"I'm just saying, a little romance would be nice."

"Jack! Please!"

"At least you could have cleaned the place up if you're going to entertain a gentleman caller!" He indicated the out-of-control stacks of books and magazines on her coffee table.

"All right, stop it!!" Rachel raised her voice, and the Joker observed her irritation with a satisfied grin. "Jack…this isn't easy for me. Will you please just listen?"

"Well, sure, sweetheart, you know I'm a good listener. So, what's this all about?" Suddenly he exclaimed in mock apprehension, "Oo, did you give me a case of the clap? Because I've had this rash…"

"Oh, will you just listen to me, already!!"

The Joker laughed at her aggravation, then took his feet down and expectantly leaned forward to show her how good a listener he could be.

"Ok, I'm sorry, go ahead."

She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then stated simply, "Jack…I'm pregnant."

Her words hung in the air and time seemed to freeze for a few moments. Rachel anxiously watched the Joker's face, trying to detect any sign of interest or emotion. Suddenly, he broke into gleeful laughter. He was soon laughing so hard he fell over sideways, clutching his stomach and shaking helplessly. Rachel sighed in exasperation, knowing she could only wait out his hysteria.

"Oh…oh, _no_…you're kidding…that's great….I love it, _love it_…." The Joker gasped as he tried to sit back up. He wiped his eyes, still cackling madly. Finally, he settled down and looked at Rachel, his face screwed up in an expression of suppressed amusement.

"And…I'm guessing…that you're telling me this…because you think…_I'm_… the one that…_impregnated_ you?" he asked merrily.

"Yes, Jack, this is your child." Rachel asserted tiredly. She really had not anticipated this reaction, but she realized she shouldn't have been surprised. He_ would_ just think it was funny.

"Well, what about good ol' Harvey? Didn't he, um, dip his pen in the same ink well somewhere along the way?" the Joker asked, trying half-heartedly to suppress more snickering.

"The timing indicates this is _your_ handiwork." Rachel responded dryly.

"Now wait a minute, weren't you on those little, uh, pill things?" He mimed pressing a pill out of a blister pack.

"Yes, but thanks to your psychotic behavior, I got a little off track and missed a few days. Jack, this is your kid, just accept that."

"You're sure? I mean, I don't want to take credit away from other deserving paternity candidates…"

"Jack, there wasn't anybody else!! Did you think I was fucking Ernie?" Rachel was referring to the silent, shriveled henchman that used to bring Rachel her grocery order when she was in Jack's home.

"Ewww, I don't think anybody does that. Ok, so I'm the winner. Great. What do you want me to _do_ about it?" He had barely gotten over his glee, and was close to speaking normally again. He leaned forward, curious, resting his chin in his hand.

"I wanted you to _know_. I just think that you have the right…and the responsibility to…to have some input into whatever happens."

"Responsibility…oh, right!" The Joker winked knowingly, nodded and stuck his hand into his pants pocket. He brought out a roll of bills secured with a rubber band, which he removed and peeled off five $100 bills. He laid them on the coffee table and pushed them toward Rachel.

"I don't know, is that enough? Used to be you could get one for around $300, but everything's gone up…"

Rachel stared at the money, temporarily perplexed; then a rush of anger flowed through her.

"Dammit, Jack! I don't want your money! And, I _don't_ know if I want an abortion! That's what I wanted to talk to you about, I wanted to find out how you felt about the choices we have!"

Now it was the Joker's turn to be perplexed. He stared at Rachel for a moment, then said:

"Wait a minute, you are NOT seriously considering _having_ this thing, are you?..._Are you_? You know, I always said you were crazier than I am, and this is living proof…you're officially _nuts._"

The Joker, frowning, sat back with his arms crossed, then slowly started laughing again.

"Although…ooo, I would give anything to see Harvey's _face_…ah, no, it's too good, I can't stand it!! I send his little bunny back to him, but surprise! He gets a liiitle more than he bargained for…oh, fuck me, this is too much!" He went off in another spasm of uproarious laughter, and Rachel, infuriated, grabbed a paperback book and threw it, hard, at his head.

Rather than straightening him out, this had the effect of pouring gasoline on a fire, and he was reduced to lying flat on the couch, shaking helplessly, out of breath, laughing like a madman.

"You…you're so cute when you're furious…I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I can't help it…aw, _fuck_." He finally got a hold of himself and once again sat up, looking at her sideways.

"Come on, Rachel," he said, finally attempting a serious tone again. "You don't need that kind of shit. A kid? _My_ kid? Harvey's gonna dump you, your career will be ruined, and you'll be on welfare with little Junior-the-Homicidal-Maniac running around setting fires and stabbing people in the ankles. It's just _not_ a good idea."

"Jack, don't think I haven't been going over this non-stop ever since I found out. But, I'm trying to find out what _you _want. So…tell me, _what do _YOU _want_?"

He fixed his gaze on her and stared for a long moment, then he said "What the hell difference does it make what I want? I'm not going to be around! I won't be changing diapers, and going to PTA meetings! I'm not even going to be on the planet, probably, much less hanging around driving the car pool!" Suddenly, his voice dropped to a deep, harsh tone, "_My opinion…does…not_…_matter_." He said it emphatically enough that Rachel realized he was finally taking the question to heart.

"It _does_ matter. If a child of yours is coming into the world, how does that make you feel?"

"Feel? _Feel?_ I don't FEEL anything, because I don't care! This is entirely your problem, Rachel, you do what you want to. I'm out of the picture, sorry! I mean, unless you want child support, in which case I'm afraid you'll have to fight the city of Gotham, because any money I have will eventually be in the evidence locker down at Jim Gordon's cozy establishment."

"Jack—_forget _about what it means to me. I…want…to know…what_ you_ think."

The Joker was getting agitated. Rachel had a way of forcing him to confront emotional issues, and he _hated_ dealing with emotions. Women had more emotions in one day than he had in a year, and he didn't see why he had to try to figure out his damn _feelings _when it was much simpler to hack his way out of most situations…but not this one. He took a deep breath and stared out the window. Rachel sat quietly, watching his expressions change from frowning discomfort to resolute acceptance.

He finally turned to her and said, "Ok. You want to know how I _feel_. I'll tell you, but I mean it when I say it doesn't fucking matter. I would NEVER ask to bring anyone into this miserable world on purpose. I mean, what a cruel joke. But…since the thing's already, uh, happening...."—he waved a hand in the direction of Rachel's stomach—"I guess it seems…kind of…kind of a _shame_ to…kill it." He bit his lower lip and dropped his eyes to the floor, waiting for Rachel's response.

Rachel smiled, somehow relieved. "You don't really want me to have an abortion, do you, Jack?"

He slowly raised his head, his eyes burning into her. "No. But…you _should._ You really…really _should_."

"Maybe so. But I'm not going to. I want this baby. And I think Harvey will stay with me. And I think I can keep my job and make a good life for this child. I'm going to do my best, anyway. And I'm really happy to know…that you'll be ok with that."

"You really are fucking crazy."

Rachel stood up and walked over to him and sat next to him, putting her arms around him. He flinched at first, but then laid his head against hers and they sat quietly together. The Joker shook her arms off of him, and reversed the situation, putting his arms around her and pulling him close to him. He inhaled the scent of her deeply, and brushed her forehead with his lips.

"Rachel…don't do this to yourself." he said quietly.

"It's ok, Jack. I can't get rid of this child. You know, I just realized, I already love it. Isn't that strange?" she murmured into his chest.

She heard his sigh, and looked up to see his face. He had as serious an expression as she had ever seen on him.

"What if there's something wrong with it?" he asked.

"Like what?" she asked curiously.

"Like whatever the hell's wrong with me." he answered dully.

It had never occurred to Rachel that Jack actually acknowledged his mental health issues; but she sat back and ran her hand down the side of his scarred, painted face.

"Jack, if there is something…wrong, I'll make sure he gets treated. He won't have the kind of life you did…I'll take good care of him. Or her."

"Yeah? What if something happens to you?"

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"No, I just…I don't like this. Kids are so…helpless." There was a faraway quality to his voice that made her try to read his expression, but she couldn't figure him out.

"It'll be ok, Jack. I promise." She let her hand trail down his chest, running her hand absently over his midsection. He pressed his own hand against hers and impulsively kissed her. She couldn't stop herself from kissing him back—it had been so long, and she had missed him so much—all her efforts to move on and forget him were destroyed in that one impassioned kiss.

Rachel felt a familiar stirring inside of her; the thought of lying next to Jack's naked body proved to be too much for her. "Ok, how'd you like to fuck a pregnant woman?" she asked teasingly.

"Ah, well, actually, you won't be my first. But that won't make it any less…delightful."

He grinned, stood, and took her hand to lead her to the bedroom. Rachel was puzzled by his remark—God, just what perversions did he harbor in his black soul—and before she submitted to his advances, she asked "So, what pregnant women have you been with?"

"Oh, never mind about that! Forget I said anything…." He ordered as he tried to take her in his arms.

"No, I want to know. Was it just some random woman off the street, or did you…Jack, do you already have a child somewhere in the world?" Rachel searched his face questioningly.

He rolled his eyes and his mouth was twisted in a grimace of exasperation.

"What is with you and wanting to know about all this kind of crap? They could have used you in the time of the Inquisition…"

"Who was she, Jack? And do you? Do you already have a kid?" she asked, amazed by the possibility.

The Joker perched on Rachel's bed, and she joined him. He sighed heavily, and said "_No._ No kid. But…she was my girlfriend, I got her pregnant, and she died. End of story."

Girlfriend?…Rachel had a hard time imagining the Joker in any kind of normal domestic situation, and she tried hard to think of what sort of woman would voluntarily get involved with him as he was today. Surely this was a long time ago…there was no way Rachel was going to let him off the hook with that sketchy bit of information.

"How old were you? What was her name? How did she die?" she shot out.

He frowned at her, and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I don't want to talk about this! I thought I was going to get laid, if this is a therapy session, count me out." He tried to stand up, but Rachel pushed him back onto the bed.

"Come on, Jack, please. Tell me. I really want to know what happened."

He sighed again, and considered. He had spent many years trying to forget. But, sometimes he wished…he wished he could talk about it. Maybe if he told Rachel, he could let Claire's ghost rest in peace.

"Fine. I'll tell you. But…it's depressing as hell." he warned her.

"Ok. I'll keep that in mind."

"I was fifteen, almost sixteen; a…friend…got me a job in a restaurant—as a busboy. I washed dishes, mopped, cleaned the toilets—and there was this girl—Claire--she worked there, too. She was a woman, actually, twenty-six years old. I fell for her, hard. Followed her around like an orphaned puppy. She could have been cruel as hell to me, but she wasn't. She treated me…with respect. She talked to me, invited me over to her place for dinner one night. We ended up in bed—I had lied and told her I was eighteen, which I don't think she believed…I never cared about the age difference. All I knew was that she was the best thing that ever happened to me in my life."

"We ended up having an affair, and I moved in with her. We lived together for over a year, and then she found out she was pregnant. She was going to have an abortion, but I begged her not to; I told her I'd do anything to take care of my family, I'd work two jobs, I'd stay up all night with the kid if it got sick, anything. Just please, don't kill it. She was going to go through with it anyway, but at the last minute, she decided she couldn't do it."

"I asked her to marry me, but she just laughed. Said there was no way she was going to get married with her belly out to here; but she promised we would after the baby was born. I was so happy…I'd lay in bed with her and feel my kid moving around inside her…couldn't believe it." Jack's voice trailed off and Rachel squeezed his hand. He dropped his head and continued.

"She was about six months along…one day we were at work and I was mopping up behind the counter, she was checking out customers. I couldn't have been more than four feet away from her. These two guys came in…with guns. Told her to open the register and give them all the money. All forty-two dollars of it." he added bitterly.

"It was one of those old-fashioned registers—you had to press the keys really hard to get it to open, and it stuck. She got confused and couldn't get it to pop open. The first guy freaked out—a fucking meth-head, he was high as a kite—and he panicked. He shot her, here…" Jack pointed to the base of his throat.

"I caught her as she fell…her blood went all over my shirt and pants, down onto my shoes…I tried to get her to hold on, but she died in my arms…the EMTs tried to save the baby, but they couldn't. They…couldn't…." He stared straight ahead and Rachel felt his body stiffen as he held in a sob. He turned away from her so she couldn't see the tears in his eyes; she simply put her arms around him and held him for a long moment.

Finally, she asked "Did the police catch the murderers?"

"No." he answered, and suddenly, his voice changed to a hard, higher-pitched tone.

"But I did." He turned back to her and she was chilled by the suddenness of his grim smile and glittering eyes.

"I…went to a costume shop and bought some greasepaint makeup. Wanted to make it a special occasion. I found out where the bastards lived—they had a piece of crap trailer on the outskirts of town. I watched them come and go, and when the first guy—the shooter—was alone, I let myself in, and I…tied him up. I did something for him that he sure as hell didn't do for Claire—I gave him a chance to review his disgusting little life. Think it over. He had…_lots _of time for reflection. By the time I got around to cutting his throat, he was damned grateful."

"Then his pal came home; I didn't do such a thorough job on him—he didn't shoot her, after all, but you know—he didn't do anything about it, either. So…I just gave him a moment to look over the body of his buddy, and took him out, nice and easy."

Rachel had long ago gotten over her horror at Jack's murderous ways, and she simply asked, "So, did _you _get caught?"

"No; I set a timer on a little charge in their meth lab, and the whole fucking trailer went…." –he made a noise like an explosion going off—"and I don't think the cops even bothered to look into it, just called it an accident."

They were both silent for a long while, then the Joker put his arm around Rachel and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, and soon they were both naked, touching each other the way they used to, taking comfort from the pleasure they gave each other. Afterward, Rachel lay in the Joker's arms and thought about him as a young man in love, devoted to his woman and expected child, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of jealousy.

That man was no more, and she knew he wouldn't be coming back. Not for her. Not for this child. And there was nothing she could do about it.


	3. Meet and Greet

The Joker lay in Rachel's bed, holding her sleeping form tightly against him. He breathed deep, the scent of her hair and the feel of her warm, soft skin soothing and calming his churning, whirling brain. Sleep came hard these days, and he found it nearly impossible to let go of a discordant rhythm that played in an endless loop at the back of his mind. This was the first time in days that he had been able to relax at all.

Rachel stirred in her sleep, sending a renewed shot of desire through him; he did what he had done many times before—he gently eased her onto her back, pushed her legs apart, and let her awaken to the feel of his hardness entering her, thrusting into her with deep, satisfying strokes. Rachel smiled, happy to once again lay under him and enjoy his enthusiastic use of her body, even as she responded with eager thrusts of her own. Afterward, Rachel returned to her nap, and even the Joker finally drifted off into a fitful midday sleep.

Late in the afternoon, Rachel awoke again and gasped as she checked the time. She shook the Joker awake and said "You're going to have to go, Harvey's coming over around 6:00 and I have to clean up the apartment and start dinner."

Still groggy, the Joker peered at her sleepily and asked "You going to tell him about, you know, your little _surprise_?"

"I don't know…I guess I should. No point in waiting."

"Ummm," he agreed.

"He's going to freak out."

"Um-hmmm…" he agreed again.

"Maybe I should wait…"

The Joker reluctantly sat up and started dressing. "What good will that do?"

"Maybe I'll get more courage?" she asked hopefully.

"Not likely, doll. You don't want to wait around until he starts wondering why you're getting fat, do you?"

"_Fat?!"_ she cried indignantly.

"Oh boy, you haven't thought this through as well as you said you did, have you?" he said, starting to crack up again. "Don't worry, I hear the pounds just _melt _off…" he chuckled.

Rachel lay frowning at him. She hadn't gotten quite that far in her anticipation of the joys of pregnancy. "Well, I can't worry about vanity. I'll just have to join a gym or something…"

The Joker finished dressing and leaned down to kiss her.

"You'll be beautiful, no matter what. I just hope Harvey appreciates you as much as I do."

So did Rachel.

***

Harvey arrived promptly at six, with a lovely bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. Rachel made a big show of being delighted by both, but realized she would have to forego the wine; she might as well tell him what was going on before the evening really got going…

"Rachel, dinner smells wonderful…" Harvey said appreciatively.

"Thanks! Listen…before we do anything else…I have something I need to, uh, tell you…" Rachel suddenly felt a wave of nausea roll over her, and she abruptly ran to the bathroom to wretch, leaving Harvey concerned and bewildered.

"Rach? You all right?" he asked tentatively, standing near the bathroom door. Rachel came out looking pale, but she nodded.

"Yes, I'm ok. Sorry! Look, Harvey, back to what I was saying…"

"Are you sick?"

"No, not exactly…"

Harvey tried to lead her over to the couch. "Why don't you sit down, you look terrible…"

_Great. Just what I needed to hear…_

"Harvey, please stop fussing over me! I'm not sick, I'm pregnant!" The words just spilled out before she realized they were coming, and she and Harvey stared at each other for a long, stricken moment.

"Pregnant?" Harvey asked weakly.

"Yeah…I'm sorry, Harvey, I meant to kind of build up to that…"

"No, no, it's ok, in fact—it's wonderful! Rachel, I've always hoped…I mean, I thought we'd wait until after we got married, but it doesn't matter, this is fantastic!" Harvey wrapped his arms around Rachel and hugged her fiercely.

_Oh, crap._

"Harvey…it's not…this isn't…your…child." Rachel awkwardly muttered the words into Harvey's ear.

He released her abruptly and stared into her eyes, uncomprehendingly.

"What?"

"Harvey…this happened…while I was…you know, away." Neither of them had ever used the words kidnapped or hostage; Rachel, because they were inaccurate, Harvey, because he thought they were evocative of her supposed ordeal and would bring even more pain to Rachel's delicate psyche.

"You mean…" Harvey's eyes flashed in anger and his mouth became a tight slit. "You mean, that…that monster…made you _pregnant?_ This is _his_ child?" Harvey's words came out in a choked, raspy tone that made Rachel shudder.

"Well, yes, Harvey, apparently so. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this…"

Harvey turned away and walked to the window, his fists clenched and his whole body tensed in a supreme effort at self control. _Somewhere,_ thought Rachel, _the Joker is laughing his ass off._

"It's ok, Rachel." Turning back to her, Harvey finally choked out the words. "Sweetheart. It's going to be ok…we'll…we'll get it taken care of. I'll be with you every step of the way, don't worry about a thing, I'll make the arrangements, it will all be ok…"

"Harvey…Harvey, please, listen to me..."

"We'll just have to be careful that the media doesn't get a hold of this…"

"Wait, Harvey, I…"

"We'll have to find a doctor out of state…"

"_Harvey!_ I'm going to keep it!" Rachel stated firmly.

"_What?_"

"I'm going to have this baby, Harvey. I know that's hard for you to understand…but it's what I want."

"Rachel…don't be ridiculous! This isn't your fault; there's no reason you should have to suffer through this…this ordeal…"

"I know, I know…but I've thought this over very carefully, and I'm going through with the pregnancy—and I'm keeping the baby. And, Harvey, I would so love to have you with me, I really would, I love you so much…but I totally understand if…if that's not possible. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave, Harvey. I wouldn't blame you at all."

They were both silent for a long moment, sitting on the couch in numb contemplation. Harvey finally sighed and put his hands on Rachel's shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Rachel, I…completely respect your beliefs…and I…want to do the right thing…I just have to be honest…I don't know if I can go through life….looking at a child that….came from…"

"I know…I know, Harvey. It's ok. It's ok."

"I'm sorry, Rachel, I don't think I can do it."

Rachel just nodded. She felt hot tears prickle her eyes, and she tried to contain them, but she couldn't help but release a sob of sorrow and frustration.

"Rachel, please don't cry."

"I can't help but cry! Harvey…I know I shouldn't ask you to stay, but…I really wish you would…"

It was the first time Rachel had asked anything of Harvey since her return; he looked at her, the woman he loved, and suddenly he realized he wasn't going anywhere. He silently took her in his arms and rocked her against him. Finally, he said "It's ok, Rachel. We belong together. And if you're determined to…go through with this, then, ok. We'll make it work. We'll figure it out, and we'll make it work."

They spent the evening in a daze, but Harvey stayed the night and by morning, they were able to converse almost as if nothing had happened. They talked it through and both agreed that there was no reason to announce the truth about the child's paternity to the rest of the world, or even to close friends and family. They would stay together, and when the time was right, they'd get married. The child would take Harvey's name, and they'd never look back.

When Harvey left, Rachel dropped into a chair and sighed, exhausted. Harvey really was a wonderful man; she would do everything she could to make this work. She was determined to make sure he never regretted his decision.

***

Bruce Wayne was in his communications room, trying to sort through internet chatter while monitoring a police scanner at the same time. Something was up with two rival drug gangs, and the rumor was that there was going to be a showdown between the established Maroni contingency and a newly established group from Jamaica.

After due consideration, he dressed carefully in his Kevlar suit, and checked his many gadgets with Alfred's expert help. "Something big going on tonight, sir?" Alfred asked conversationally.

"I'm afraid so, Alfred. Looks like new blood is trying to horn in on Maroni's east side operation. I'm not certain yet—there's nothing concrete that I can give the police—but my instincts say it's worth checking out."

"Of course, sir, your instincts know much better than the police what needs looking into and what doesn't."

Bruce cast an annoyed glance at his smiling butler.

"If I may ask, sir—what is it about this situation that warrants Batman's attention?"

"Well…ordinarily, nothing. But from what I'm hearing, the confrontation is going down during normal business hours—and there are going to be bystanders that might end up in the line of fire…I'm just doing what needs to be done, Alfred. If I'm wrong, great. But if I'm right…there's a chance innocent people will be hurt if I don't at least make an appearance."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, sir."

Alfred put the finishing touches on his long-time charge's outfit, and Batman slid into his vehicle, heading for the working-class side of Gotham City.

***

Batman stood surveying the aftermath of the shoot-out. He had been right; Maroni's men had come loaded for bear, intent on putting a stop to the impudent behavior the new gang had been demonstrating for a few months. Both sides had automatic weapons, but the Italians were far better outfitted for the fight.

The firestorm had just begun inside the empty office building when Batman made his entrance, thus preventing the action from going out to the street. He was a little too late to prevent the front line of Jamaicans from taking serious heat. Five men were dead, leaving thick blood trails, and spatters that painted the walls. One of them, the first to advance against the Italians, had had his belly opened up by an AK-47's rapid fire assault, and his intestines had spilled out into a gory pool in front of him.

Batman was about to transmit a message to Jim Gordon, giving him the location of the bloodbath, when he heard a low, creepy, artificial laugh coming from the hallway.

"Ah, ha ha, ha, ho…well, Batman, I'm sorry we have to meet under such distasteful circumstances…" The Joker stepped into the room, his laser eyes trained on Batman's face.

"…but I just didn't seem to be able to attract your attention on my own." The Joker's painted face broke into a wide grin, and he easily sidestepped the gooey mess on the floor without breaking his intense examination of the Batman.

"_Joker_…" Batman hissed the word in amazement. He had no hint that this man would be involved in the afternoon's battle. He was shocked by the way he looked; he'd seen a crudely drawn artist's rendering of his face, but he never expected such a demented, deeply scarred appearance, coupled with a kind of powerful, burning presence.

"I really have wanted to meet you for a long time, Batman, I'm a _big_ fan." The Joker carefully enunciated the words, as he warily circled the bigger man at a safe distance.

"You bastard, you're the one that kidnapped Rachel…."

"Oh, yes, that would be me…" he said modestly, as if acknowledging a small compliment.

"You _raped_ her…"

The Joker stopped short and cast a narrow-eyed look at Batman.

"Is that what she told you? You know, I'm not one to kiss and tell, but I have to say—anything that happened between me and Harvey's little squeeze was always mutually advantageous—_every_ time…again, and again…and _again_…." He licked his lips and leered nastily at his new acquaintance. "We got to know each other…_very _well." he said in a low, purring voice.

"That's_ it_…" Batman spat, and he lunged at the clown in fury.

"Oh, no you don't…" the Joker said, laughing. He neatly stepped over the eviscerated body, and backed toward the door, effectively faking out Batman so that he slipped in the dead man's guts and ended up falling sideways as the Joker made his exit, his infuriating laughter echoing through the empty building's stale, heavy air.


	4. Hello, Baby

Harvey bore the burden of Rachel's secret with a heavy heart. He felt alone; there was literally no one he could talk to about the shame and disgust he felt regarding the unborn child's paternity. In time, he resorted to calling Bruce Wayne, finally ready to take him up on his offer of an evening of hard drinking. The two men hit the town, and after a few straight shots of vodka, Harvey abruptly confided Rachel's condition to his friend.

"Rachel's pregnant, Bruce," he announced flatly.

Bruce's jaw dropped, but he rallied quickly and put on a congratulatory smile. As a long-time businessman, he knew how to fake correct responses to all kinds of bizarre news.

"That's wonderful, Harvey! Way to go, old man! Why, I had no idea you guys were planning a family!" He clapped his friend on the back in an "atta boy!" gesture.

"Yeah, well, me neither." Harvey responded bitterly.

Bruce saw despair in Harvey's eyes and wondered why. Clearly, this event had not been penciled in on Harvey's day planner.

"_Oh_…I see. Came as a surprise, huh?" he asked gently.

Harvey slammed another shot down his throat and wiped his mouth angrily.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Aw, come on, Harvey—I'm sure she didn't plan for this to happen."

"No—_she_ didn't plan it at all…"

"What do you mean?"

Harvey was just drunk enough to say a little too much.

"The _Joker_…." He hissed the word.

Bruce felt a jolt in his belly as he thought of the disturbing, demented creature he had finally come face to face with at the gang shoot out. The thought of Rachel being abused by that monster, of his hands on her…of her being impregnated by him…made him want to hunt him down and…Bruce took a deep breath, and clasped Harvey's shoulder tightly.

"My God, Harvey, I'm so sorry…"

"I want to kill that bastard…"

"I know…I feel the same way…Jeeze, how is Rachel handling this?"

"She's…ok. I tried to talk her into having an abortion, but she wouldn't hear of it. Says it was meant to be, and she won't get rid of it. I swear, Bruce, she's…delusional."

The pair sat drinking for a good long time, each man consumed with his own thoughts of hate, regret, and bewilderment.

***

The Joker huddled, his skinny body chilled, on the concrete floor of an empty office building-in-progress. It was one of the random places he was taking refuge in these days. He barely noticed his own discomfort; he was engrossed in reflecting on his meeting with the Batman, and what that meant for the future.

It had gone better than he had hoped; he'd been able to size up the emerging folk hero of Gotham, both literally and figuratively, and he now knew what he was up against. Batman was a _big _damn guy, not one the Joker would be likely to best in a fistfight. But, he'd gained a delightful bit of insight; he thought it _very _interesting that Batman's main concern had been for Rachel rather than the gun battle that had left carnage all around them.

_Damn, Rachel, how many men do you have to keep on a string? Me and Harvey not enough for ya?_

He shook his head and chuckled in satisfied amusement, once again envisioning the pathetic scene of Rachel telling Harvey about the kid she had on the way; but suddenly, a catch of sorrow punched him in the stomach.

_Rachel…oh, yeah_.

He knew her little plan. She hoped that he'd get sucked into this pregnancy thing, and decide to turn himself in, or _check_ himself in…start taking all those drugs and doing fucking "therapy" in hopes of being able to be involved in the kid's life. Well, ha ha ha, sweetheart, no thanks. He'd warned her—she was on her own. But still…he tried to shake off the momentary stir of regret that ebbed over him. _Stop it. Just stop it. Batman's going to get to know me better than that kid ever will._

He turned up the collar on his heavy overcoat and tried to suppress a shiver before shutting his eyes in hopes of catching a couple of hours of sleep.

***

Rachel was six months pregnant; her tall, slim frame carried the extra pounds gracefully. She didn't look pregnant at all from behind; when she turned around she appeared to have a smallish basketball stuffed under her shirt. Nevertheless, her feet and lower back hurt, and she was constantly starving.

She and Harvey had been going to counseling. At some point, Harvey had finally been able to overcome his feelings of anger and bitter resentment at the circumstances of Rachel's pregnancy, and he began to take some pleasure in Rachel's excitement and happiness. They even began to discuss finding a place together, one that would be large enough for a family of three.

The Joker had been keeping tabs on Rachel, but had chosen not to visit with her; it was too hard on both of them. Besides, now, he was a wanted man in a big way. The news regularly featured further escalations of the Joker's crimes; he was becoming bolder, and the payoffs had become larger.

Batman was eventually called in by Jim Gordon's office for a consultation. There never seemed to be enough warning for the cops to catch the guy in the act, and never enough evidence to track him down afterward. He was actively embarrassing the Gotham Police Department, and Jim had to admit they needed help. The Joker was pleased to hear from his sources that Batman was about to take a special interest in him.

But, watching from a distance as she walked into work one morning, the Joker felt a surge of curiosity about Rachel and the now obvious baby-bulge she was sporting, and decided to take a chance. That afternoon, she was in her office, deeply engrossed in a file on a domestic abuse case. When her door swung open behind her, she didn't bother to turn around.

"Just leave the affidavits on my desk, Cindy," she murmured. She was shocked and ready to scream when she felt a strong hand come from behind and cover her mouth.

"Hello, beautiful. You know, you're cute when you're knocked up."

The Joker waited until she realized it was him, then put his hands on her shoulders, trailing them firmly down over her full breasts and onto her round tummy.

"Jack! You scared me to death. What are you doing here, are you crazy?"

"I think we both know the answer to that…" he chuckled, his mouth next to her ear.

She struggled with her conscience; she knew she should scream for help, get the police to arrest the man who was a suspect in a dozen bank heists, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she grasped his hands and positioned them low on her belly in such a way that he could feel his child moving around inside her.

"Feel that? That's your baby, Jack." she said softly.

"Yeah…so, how is little Gender-As-Yet-To-Be-Determined? Everything all right?" he asked curiously. He liked feeling the little jabs and wiggles he could detect under Rachel's skin. He thought of the movie, "Alien", and grinned to himself.

She turned to look at him, about to speak, but instead almost cried out in surprise. The Joker looked rough. He was out of costume, no makeup, but his greasy hair was wiry and unkempt. He didn't smell great. She was distressed to see he was thinner than ever, pale, with deep circles under his too-brightly burning eyes. He smiled down at her, but there was no trace of his old good-humored smirk; he just looked tired and burned out. He knelt in front of her, searching her face for something.

"Yes, Jack, the baby's fine. We're all fine." she finally said pointedly. She needed him to know that she and Harvey were together. That was his answer; he nodded, understanding.

"That's good. So…Harvey's ok with this?" he asked, laying his hand on her tummy again.

"It took a while. But…yeah, we're doing ok," she assured him. "You, however, look like shit."

Her words barely penetrated his consciousness. She persisted, "Do you ever eat? When's the last time you took a shower? Jack, what's happening to you?"

A noise in the hallway caused Jack to rise instantly to his feet and assume a cat-like pose of readiness; he looked warily toward the door. When nothing further happened, he resumed his crouch, keeping his hand on Rachel's tummy.

"I'm just a little…distracted, these days, sweetie. Don't worry, things are shaping up nicely…I just…wanted to check on the kid. Make sure Harvey's not planning to drown it or something…."

"Jack…it's not too late to turn yourself in. You could get help…you could still be a part of this child's life…"

The Joker rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Aw, give it up, Rachel! Gosh, maybe they have a nice playground in the prison exercise yard! Or maybe we could bond over story time at Arkham?" he taunted sarcastically.

"Would you rather your child grow up thinking his father was nothing more than an insane criminal who died in prison—or an asylum? Or a good man who tried to do the right thing?"

"Listen, this kid comes from a long line of fuck-ups. He might as well get used to that…and you too, babe. Forget college, I'd start an interest-bearing bail bond fund right now, if I were you."

"No, Jack…please listen…"

He shook his head stubbornly, stood up and leaned to briefly kiss her on the mouth. He patted her tummy with genuine affection, and, stepping away from her, slipped silently out of her office. By the time she struggled to her feet and reached the door, he had disappeared.

***

Rachel was asleep in her and Harvey's bed during the wee morning hours when a sudden gush of water flooded out of Rachel, soaking her clothes and the bed sheets as well. She sat up, suddenly wide awake; a thrill of excitement ran through her. She gave Harvey a sharp whack on the shoulder.

"Harvey, wake up! My water broke! The baby's coming!!"

Harvey groggily roused himself. "Whaaa? Wait…what? Oh! Ok, ok, let's get moving…"

He called the hospital; Rachel changed her clothes and got the overnight bag she had prepared ahead of time.

They excitedly headed to their car, and made the drive to Gotham General in an inadvisedly short period of time.

"You ok?" Harvey asked anxiously.

"Oh, Harvey, I'm so excited…I feel like it's Christmas morning and I'm going to see what Santa brought me…" Rachel giggled nervously, just as her first contraction stabbed her in her lower back.

They arrived at the hospital, and Rachel was trundled off to a birthing room in a wheel chair, while Harvey nervously followed behind. The doctor checked on her; time passed, sometimes slowly, sometimes in a flurry of activity. Various monitors were attached to Rachel and the baby; nurses came in and out, checking her progress.

Twelve hours later, Jacob Robert Dawes was born, healthy and beautiful. Rachel wept when they placed the squirming little bundle in her arms; Harvey was right next to her, amazed at the tiny hands and feet, and at the hearty cries that such a small thing was able to produce. He impatiently pushed aside the typical "dad" thoughts of who the child might look like as being too disturbing.

The following day, on his way out of the hospital, Harvey passed the large glass window that allowed dads and visitors to view the newborn babies; a slim young man wearing a baseball cap, dirty work shirt, and a surgical mask was standing there with his arms crossed, peering into the nursery.

Harvey nodded at him; "Have a new little one yourself?"

"Yeah; you?"

"That one, right there," Harvey pointed at a baby in the front row. A blue ID card was taped to the bassinet with "Jacob Dawes" written on it.

"He's a beauty, congratulations," the young man said. He tipped his cap at Harvey and strode away. Harvey left to check on things at the office; the Joker headed for Rachel's room.

She was dozing. When she felt a familiar hand tightly cover her mouth, she startled awake; once she made certain that it was Jack under the cap, she relaxed and sighed, pleased.

"Did you see him?"

"Yeah…"

"He's perfect."

"He looked like a baby, all right." Jack said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ok?"

"I'm great. You want me to get them to bring him in here?"

Jack looked uncomfortable. "That's probably not a good idea." He pulled the baseball cap off and nervously ran his hand through his long, green-tinted blonde hair.

"It'll be all right; Harvey left for the afternoon. I'll just tell the nurses you're a relative. You can put that mask and cap back on and they'll never think twice about it."

"Well…ok," he said doubtfully.

Rachel called the nurse and arranged to have little Jacob brought to the room. In a few minutes, a nurse arrived, rolling the baby along in a clear bassinette on wheels. Rachel introduced Jack, saying he had been ill and that was why he was wearing the mask.

"Here you go!" the nurse said cheerfully. She scooped the baby up and put him in Rachel's arms, then turned and left. Jacob Robert made little cooing noises.

Rachel cuddled their son and looked at Jack; he was frowning and had sucked in his lower lip worriedly.

"You want to hold him?" she asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

"Come on, Jack, you're a big, tough criminal. You're not really scared of a tiny baby, are you?" she asked tauntingly.

"Terrified." he answered seriously.

"It's ok." she said soothingly. "Take him."

She sat up in the hospital bed and handed the bundle to Jack; he reluctantly and awkwardly took the child and peered at his tiny face.

"Looks like Harvey." he said critically.

"Oh, he does not!"

A mischievous grin spread across Jack's face. He looked back at his son. "No, actually…he looks like my mother." he said quietly, his smile subsiding.

Rachel smiled at him. "And who do _you_ look like, Jack?" He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Like her. Well, I used to…" he admitted.

Jack sat down and somehow managed to support the child's head and upper body in one hand, with the rest of the child lying comfortably on his forearm, using his lap as a safety zone. He quizzically examined the wee hands and smiled when the baby clasped his finger tightly. "He's strong, huh?" he asked. Rachel thought she detected a bit of pride in his voice.

"I think he likes you—he screams every time Harvey holds him," she commented.

Jack rolled his eyes and gave her an "Oh, sure" look, but he didn't dispute her statement.

Then he said, "Jacob Robert. That's nice—how'd you come up with that?"

"Robert is for my father, and Jacob…well, I figured he'd be called Jake. It was as close as I could come to naming him after you without Harvey blowing a gasket." She grinned ruefully at him, and he broke into appreciative laughter.

The two of them watched the tiny baby's face as he settled into sleep. The Joker carefully brought his son up to his shoulder, pressing his lips against the soft skin of the child's chubby cheek. Rachel watched the Joker's face intently as he closed his eyes, taking in the calm and peace of holding a sleeping newborn baby, but suddenly his eyes shot open as he again seemed to become acutely aware of his surroundings, and she could tell he was feeling antsy.

"Here, you better take him. I need to get out of here," he said abruptly. He handed Jacob back to her, planted a kiss on her forehead, and headed to the door. He turned at the last moment and took a long look at his son in Rachel's arms and smiled a little brokenly.

"I don't know when I'll see you again, angel. But…I'll be thinking about you. Both of you." With that he made his exit, and Rachel cuddled her newborn, wishing things were different—for _both_ of them.


	5. Evidence

**A/N: Sorry to take so long to update, I'm having a tough time working out the plot details! Anyway, I hope to be on track again…let me know what you think. Thank you for all the reviews and thanks to everyone who's been reading!**

**--Reeniecat**

The Batman had the Joker cornered.

Bruce couldn't help but take pleasure in the present conflict. He knew it was wrong to use Batman's position to avenge a personal grudge, but really, that _was_ a side benefit. It was clearly taking a hell of a good beating to subdue the Joker. He already had taken some serious blows—and yet he was still scrambling to his feet.

"You're a lot of fun, Batsy." The smiling criminal spat a mouthful of blood to the side as he gracefully righted himself after being sent flying across the cement floor onto his face.

"You make it aaall worthwhile…" A disturbingly confident peal of laughter escaped his bloody lips.

Batman grabbed the slight frame of the Joker by the lapels of his vest and rammed him hard against the wall.

"You're going to rot in prison, you miserable bastard." Batman hissed.

"Sure, Batman. You'd like that better than having me play among the suggestible folk at Arkham, wouldn't you?"

"You'll get the death penalty, or at the very least life."

The Joker casually cast his eyes upward as if giving that some thought.

"Well, I don't know, Bats—in spite of your and Gordon's best efforts, I really don't think you have anything concrete to convince a jury of guilt 'beyond a shadow of a doubt.' Anyway, don't I look cr-aaazy to _you_?" he asked quizzically.

"We'll get you on the aggravated kidnapping of Assistant DA, Rachel Dawes."

Now the Joker just laughed.

"Really? She's going to testify against me?" He asked in deep amusement as he licked away a trickle of blood from his split upper lip.

"She will if she has to," Bruce wasn't at all sure that that was the case, but he desperately wanted to put some kind of crack in the shield of the Joker's infuriating confidence.

"Ummm, well more power to her. I just don't think Rachel's the kind of girl to lie on the witness stand; although…" The Joker dropped his voice to a friendly confidential whisper. "…I've found that she's pretty willing to lie _down_ just about anywhere…" The Joker winked and made a clicking noise with his tongue in the gesture of a locker room braggart.

Batman was very happy to have the opportunity to punch the Joker, hard, in the kidneys. He doubled over, spasm-ed with pain, followed by high-pitched laughter. "Oh, come on Batman! Surely you've had the pleasure of Harvey's little bunny in _your _bed?" he asked when he was able to speak again. "No? Well that's a shame…you know, she'll never be as tight again, now that she's had a kid…"

Bruce yanked the Joker off his feet and slammed him onto his back on the unforgiving cement floor, knocking the wind out of him and sending a renewed blast of pain through his skull. He lay inert for a moment, then Batman hauled him to his feet, holding him in front of him, his fist ready to deliver another blow.

The Joker grasped the muscular arm holding him upright and said hoarsely, "You do realize I've fucked her plenty of times since she came home to Harvey, don't you?" Batman stared, horrified at the Joker's boast, and again readied himself to punch him. "I mean, it's not like it was _my_ idea…she just likes having my cock in her—it's a gift, I guess…"

The next blow came hard against his jaw and he thought he might lose consciousness. That was ok. God knows he'd been in this situation plenty of times—getting the shit beat out of him, and just _not_ being able to keep his mouth shut long enough for the other guy to lose interest in him. Oh, well, one final go….

The Joker took a ragged breath, trying hard to focus his vision and look back at the big man holding him upright.

"Or…maybe you never really wanted what Rachel's got, hmm, Batman? Maybe it's _me_ you like…tell me, Batsy, whose face do you see when you're beating off at night? Are you hard right now, Bats? 'Cause I know I am…" The blood dripping from his nose and mouth made his leer even more disgusting to Bruce.

"Maybe you were right, Joker. You really are insane." Batman growled in a low voice.

The Joker's voice dropped to a husky, sneering tone, and his eyes burned into Bruce's with a psychotic intensity.

"You can _fuck_ me if you want, Batman, I don't mind." The Joker's voice was stronger now. "If it makes you feel any better about Rachel…I mean, why not have a little fun with me before you send me off to prison? I know I'm going to be popular among the orange-jumpsuit set, you don't want to have to settle for sloppy seconds, do you?"

Batman's fist connected one last time to the Joker's jaw, and his taunting, infuriating laughter abruptly ceased.

***

The Joker awoke in a grim hospital room; his arms and legs were strapped down, and another leather strap held his torso in place. There was an IV running into his arm, and, though he was aware of a dull ache in his lower abdomen, and some swelling sensations in his face and back, he wasn't in acute pain_. Nice_, he thought.

He drifted off again, and the next time he came to, two doctors were standing next to him, busily consulting with one another over the best course of treatment for his bodily injuries.

"If the bleeding continues, we'll have to do surgery," the younger man asserted.

"Why bother? We'll be doing the entire city a favor if we just let him bleed to death internally," the older, more jaded doctor quipped.

"Maybe you could just hand me a scalpel and I could do it _for _you…" the Joker mumbled from between bruised, cut lips.

"Oh! Our patient is awake…" said the older man.

The Joker became aware of two other presences in the room, police officers stationed by the door.

The younger doctor peered into the Joker's eyes with a small flashlight, and probed his side and lower abdomen, causing a shot of pain to flood his senses. The Joker noticed his name was Sanders.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, Dr. Sanders, I'd feel much better running a bone saw through your brain, but since I guess that's not possible, let's just say I feel like _shit_."

Both of the men standing glanced at each other, and the older doctor, Dr. Petersen, took out a hypodermic and loaded the Joker's IV with its contents.

"What's that stuff?" the Joker asked suspiciously. "_Thorazine_?"

"Clozapine, actually." the doctor answered begrudgingly.

"Ah, better living through chemistry. Clozapine has a nice bouquet, not as, uh, fruity as Thorazine…"

"I think you'd better try to rest, Mr…uh, Joker." Dr. Petersen suggested. "You're going to need your strength."

***

Bruce Wayne rang the doorbell of Rachel's apartment. She checked the security cam and bit her lip uncertainly. She couldn't avoid Bruce much longer. She went ahead and buzzed him up.

"Rachel, finally, I've been wanting to get a chance to talk to you for so long…" Bruce exclaimed.

Rachel indicated he should sit down and she also took a seat. "Well, you've got me, Bruce. What did you want to talk about?"

"How's Jacob?" Bruce figured it was best to start with a positive topic, considering what he had to say to Rachel.

"He's doing great, Bruce, he's just…he's amazing. I had no idea having a baby could be so much fun…he's taking a nap now, but when he wakes up, I'll let you hold him." She offered.

"I'd like that…I've hardly seen him since he came home from the hospital."

"Yeah, sorry about that, we've just been so busy…"

"Rachel…I have something serious to talk to you about."

"Oh? And what would that be, Bruce?"

Bruce took a deep breath; he wasn't looking forward to this conversation.

"Rachel—you're going to have to be prepared to testify against the Joker."

Rachel rolled her eyes in frustration.

"Bruce, why can't you and Harvey get it through your heads—I have no meaningful recollections of what happened. I can't get on a witness stand and perjure myself."

"Rachel—there's nothing that we have on him that a sharp mob lawyer won't tear to shreds. At the very best, he'll be found insane, and that's not good enough. He deserves the death penalty, but even life in prison would be better than having him wangle his way through an insanity defense. And we'll never get to that without your testimony."

"Bruce…"

"Rachel, you haven't even tried to work through your amnesia. Harvey says Dr. Rose has recommended hypnotherapy and some other options, and you've flatly refused…"

"Why would you want me to have to remember painful things? You're supposed to be my friend…"

"Rachel, this is about justice! And protecting the people of Gotham…we need you, we all need you, to at least make an effort…"

Rachel stared hard at Bruce Wayne for a moment.

"Bruce…please don't pursue this. The Joker _is_ mentally ill…if you haven't figured that out by now, I don't know if there's any hope for you at all."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, bewildered.

"Oh, come on, Bruce—what did he say to you in that tower building? You know, when Batman beat the crap out of a man fifty pounds lighter and two inches shorter than he, with no weapons and no…Batsuit?" Rachel asked scornfully.

It deeply disturbed Bruce to realize that Rachel knew the Joker's height and weight so well.

"Rachel, I…"

"You were serving your own brand of justice, weren't you? So, don't ask me to put myself in that position."

"Rachel…did he _threaten_ you, are you _afraid_ to take the stand?"

"No, Bruce, absolutely not! Why can't you just realize, the Joker _isn't guilty_ of kidnapping me!" She blurted it out in frustration, and immediately pursed her lips in self-loathing. She hadn't meant to say that, not at all…

Bruce stared at Rachel as if she had suddenly begun spouting a foreign language.

"I don't understand…"

"Bruce…I went willingly with the Joker. Whatever happened between us…well, it wasn't what you think…"

"_What?!" _Bruce asked incredulously.

Rachel gave up trying to withhold the truth.

"It was one of his sick little psychological games…he told me he'd kill Harvey if I didn't go with him. He did have Harvey kidnapped, but nothing bad happened to him. It was all his way of getting to me, getting to Harvey…but he didn't rape me and he didn't physically abuse me…by the time it was all over with…I _wanted_ to be with him." She said the last part quietly, a secret she could no longer keep.

Bruce's brain was reeling, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear; even if Rachel did take the stand, her story—this story—would never serve to establish the Joker's sanity, and it would in great probability call Rachel's credibility into question, possibly even lead to ruining her career.

"Is it true…that you…_slept _with the Joker, even after you came back home?" Bruce asked in horror.

Rachel stared defiantly at her old friend.

"What do you want me to say, Bruce? I fell in love with him. I had his child. I am not the person you want taking the stand against him. So, please, just let this go. For Harvey's sake. _Please._"


	6. Surgery

The Joker was still groggily awake following a second dose of antipsychotic medication when the two police officers guarding him chose to step out of the room; almost immediately, mob boss Sal Maroni chose to step in.

"Well, well, my poor little Jackie, look what kind of a mess you got yerself into…" the older man looked with mock pity at the Joker, strapped to the hospital bed with an IV line jammed into his vein.

"You wanted to meet the Batman, and look where it got ya…."

"What do you want, Maroni?" the Joker gasped hoarsely.

"I want what I've always wanted—_you_, babe. I think you're finally in a position to listen to my offer with a little more open mind…"

"I'm not going to work for you, Sal…."

"Well, maybe not. But yer not going to do so great in prison, either, Jackie. Yer too pretty—well, you _was, _at least, before the Bat guy got a-hold a ya. But you will be again, once the swelling goes down…just think of all the great friends you'll make…some of 'em are _my_ old friends, ya know…" The old mobster chuckled with amusement.

"Don't worry about me, Sal, I don't give a shit what happens to me…." Jack was too doped up to engage Sal in verbal repartee. He just wished he'd leave.

"Well, you don't seem to be up for visitors today; I just wanted to give you sumpin' to chew on, while you got all this _time_ on yer hands…"

Sal bent down and kissed the Joker possessively on his forehead.

"I'll check back wid you before yer trial, babe. Don't worry, we'll get it all straightened out…to both our satisfaction." The crime boss gave the Joker a smile of grim determination, patted his hand affectionately, and turned to leave.

***

The Joker had to have surgery to staunch the internal bleeding and infection inflicted by the Batman's overly enthusiastic blow to his kidney; he was lying in post-op recovery when Rachel walked in. As Assistant DA, she had no trouble being granted access, and sailed past the security guard at the door.

She knew Jack was still unconscious; she just wanted to see him.

He was pale and thin; most of the bruising and swelling on his face had subsided, but he still looked rough. Rachel was glad to see that his dark blonde hair was clean again. And, no matter what else might lie ahead, he was safe, at least for the moment, and the city was safe from him. She gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and ran her fingertips over his scars, down to his lips. He stirred slightly, and finally opened his eyes a bit.

He gazed at her blankly for a few minutes, then asked "Rachel?" in a raspy voice.

"Yeah, Jack, it's me. Hi."

"Hi." he said ruefully. He tried to smile, but ended up grimacing instead.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?" he asked conversationally.

"Yeah, pretty much, sweetie." Rachel smiled sadly at him.

"Can I have a drink of water?"

"Ice chips." She took a cup and held it to his lips so he could get the coldness in his dry mouth.

"Thanks. So, do you know what happens to me now?"

"They're going to keep you here until you fully recover from the surgery, then you'll be transferred to a maximum security facility to await trial."

"Mmm."

"They're still a little concerned about your back—you may have some permanent damage."

The Joker took that bit of news unemotionally; then he weakly grinned and said "Just means _you'll_ have to be on top next time we fuck."

"Jack…" she said, blushing, but amused. "There's no next time for us, you know that." she said quietly.

She had been keeping her hand on his, and now he gave hers a small squeeze. They gazed at each other without words. Anything either of them could think of to say would sound hopelessly inconsequential.

Finally Rachel stood. "Well, I better go. I just wanted you to see a friendly face when you woke up."

"Heh…those are in…short supply…" he whispered.

She started to leave, but she heard a low "Rachel?" and she turned back to him.

"What is it, Jack?"

"Do you…do you think you could bring Jacob up here…" he licked his lips, trying to form the words coherently, "before they transfer me? I wish…I wish I could see him one more time…and, I don't want you taking him into the prison..."

Rachel felt a stab of sorrow, but she forced a smile. "I think I could arrange that…let me see what I can do." Jack nodded weakly and took another shot at smiling, himself.

"Love you, Rachel."

He'd never said anything even remotely like that before, and even though she knew it was probably post-op daze mixed with antipsychotic meds talking, she couldn't help but feel a swell of happiness.

"Love you, too, Jack…" She pressed her lips gently to his and quickly walked out of the room before she dissolved into tears.

***

Rachel, true to her word, created an excuse for Harvey's benefit to cover her and Jacobs' visit to see the Joker in the hospital. Given the heavy dose of medications he was on, and with two security guards and a nurse in the room, the Joker was allowed to have the use of his arms for the visit so he could hold his son.

Jack was looking better; his recovery from surgery was on target, and most of his other injuries from the beating Batman had given him were judged to be healing well, although he was probably going to have chronic back pain for however long the rest of his life would turn out to be.

He would soon be sent to prison to await trial; Rachel was determined to use the opportunity of his incarceration to persuade him to take advantage of his coming commitment to Arkham in order to recover as much as possible, thereby allowing him more opportunities to see Jacob.

She knew Harvey would go ballistic at the idea of Rachel bringing the baby to visit his father in a mental institution, but she didn't care. If Jack would cooperate and show improvement, there was no reason he shouldn't be allowed to have a relationship with his child. Assuming he was, indeed, found insane.

***

Rachel visited Jack in prison. Handcuffed and shackled, he was brought to the visitation room, with the heavy glass separating the prisoner from his visitor. He took his seat across from her, and Rachel was surprised but happy to see some of his old wicked smile spread across his face when he saw her.

"Hello, beautiful," he said appreciatively. "This is a unique kind of torture—to see you and not be able to touch you." He added, "Guess that makes ol' Harvey-boy happy, though, huh?"

"Oh, Jack, I can't stand to see you like this…" Rachel said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh, I think I've found my niche—apparently I respond well to sensory depravation and isolation. And really terrible food…" he said, wrinkling his nose.

Rachel noticed a fresh bruise under his eye.

"Are they…treating you ok?" she asked hesitantly.

He gave a short laugh.

"You know, you'd be surprised how long law enforcement people can hold a grudge; blow up a few of their fellow police officers, and they won't let you forget it! But, hey, I've been in worse situations…" Rachel knew that, as a high profile prisoner, the Joker was being kept in the most secure area of the prison and wouldn't be exposed to the general population until after his sentencing, if he did indeed end up incarcerated.

"Are they keeping you on the meds?"

"They're supposed to…they don't bother half the time, though. Why waste perfectly good medication when they can bludgeon you into submission?" The Joker seemed relatively chipper in spite of his grim story. Rachel wondered if by some miracle the prison physicians had stumbled onto the right quantity and combination of medications to keep the Joker on an even keel.

"Jack…if they send you to Arkham…you've got to try. You really do, you have to try to cooperate, take the meds, go to therapy—whatever they say, do it. If you get better, you'll be able to see Jacob more often…"

The Joker stared at her for a long moment. He dropped his eyes, and said quietly, "I'd like that…but I don't think it'll happen. I think they'll find me guilty, and that means the death penalty…which is probably better for everyone." He looked up and Rachel saw his eyes were clear and rational.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I really meant to be dead before putting you through all this. But, that damn kid of yours…I just keep thinking about him…he kind of gets to me…"

"He's your kid too, Jack; one day, he'll want to know about his real dad…I hope you'll be around when he does," she said simply.

The prison guard tapped Jack on the shoulder, indicating it was time to go; Rachel pressed her hand against the glass; Jack just smiled ruefully, gave a handcuffed salute, and allowed the guard to lead him back to his cell.


	7. Flames and Justice

**A/N: Just a short little chapter of plot development…more next time! Thank you as always to everyone for reading, and especially my reviewers!! Love you guys…**

**Reeniecat**

Harvey Dent pressed hard to get the Joker's trial underway. He understood that this would be the greatest challenge of his career, to date; the fact that he had a very personal stake in the outcome made it all the more important to him that there not be any delay. It was fortunate that the judge on the case was equally eager to bring the high-profile case into her court, before the citizens of Gotham became any more enraged than they already were.

Sal Maroni saw to it that the Joker had excellent legal representation; a battery of psychiatrists was dispatched over a period of several weeks to interview and analyze the man in his prison cell. For every count of pre-meditated murder that the DA's office would bring, the defense would have page after page of psychological diagnoses to counter the charges.

With conditions of long-term psychopathic tendencies brought about by an abusive upbringing, post-traumatic stress syndrome, obsessive/compulsive disorder, as well as bipolar and schizoid components, it was easy to bring into question the Joker's ability to tell right from wrong.

The accused killer's obsession with Assistant DA, Rachel Dawes was obviously a factor in his dive off the deep end. There was no question that the Joker had a seriously mis-wired brain; but it was the series of x-rays showing the effects of a long-ago head injury that had lain dormant until a fresh injury created a psychotic break that made the jury decide the verdict—not guilty by reason of insanity.

The Joker was not made to take the stand; neither was Rachel.

The judge read the sentence—commitment to Arkham Asylum for treatment until the Joker could be deemed no longer to be a threat….

The Joker stood impassively as the sentence was read. Sal Maroni smiled. Rachel gasped, put her hand to her throat and closed her eyes in relief. At least he wouldn't die; at least, maybe, he would get some help….she watched the officers lead the Joker out of the courtroom, to be processed for his transfer to Arkham.

Bruce Wayne reached over the divider between the audience and the court area to shake Harvey's hand.

"Incredible job, Harvey."

"Thanks, Bruce, but I feel like a failure. I feel like I failed Rachel, as well as the people of Gotham. The bastard's not only going to live, but there's a chance he might even get out someday…"

"Well…we can only hope _not_. But you did the best you could, and I know you'll keep fighting to keep him in there. That's all anyone can do, now."

The two men stood together as they watched Rachel gather her purse and briefcase; without a look at either man, she quickly strode out of the courtroom to head back to her office.

It was only after Rachel and Harvey had picked up little Jacob from his grandmother's house and the family had settled in for an evening of blessedly mindless TV…only after Bruce Wayne had begun readying himself for a night of patrols as Batman, with the television on in the background…that the news report came on….

The Joker had gone through the final procedures of being released from the care of the prison system and into the hands of Arkham. He had been loaded into a heavily fortified vehicle for transport to his new residence. At mid-point between the prison and Arkham, a late-model black sedan barreled out of nowhere and broadsided the transport vehicle, causing the driver of the sedan to be thrown through the windshield to his death. The Arkham driver and aide had scrambled, stunned, out of the vehicle mere seconds before it burst into flames.

Flames which burned so hot that by the time the emergency vehicles arrived to douse the inferno, the fire fighters couldn't get near the heat; it took well over a half hour to bring the flames under control enough to begin to be able to cut through the thick, crumpled metal of the van's passenger area..

By then, the desperate attempts to free the lone passenger, handcuffed, shackled, and trapped in the rear wire cage, were clearly unnecessary. It was obvious that the Joker had been burned to death, his pale features now forever unrecognizable, nothing left of the man and his spirit but charred flesh over white bone. Police officers soon arrived on the scene, carefully taking pictures and gathering evidence; was it a botched escape attempt? An accident? A revenge killing? All the news channels were quick to bring in experts to speculate on the possibilities….

Rachel sat frozen in her living room, clutching her small son to her. Hot tears streamed down her face as she watched and listened in horror. _No_, she thought…_it's a mistake. It has to be a mistake…_

Harvey sat, transfixed, listening carefully to every word of the report. He finally sat back and let out a vocal sigh, partly of relief, partly of frustration.

"That crazy freak _bastard_." Harvey spoke almost with admiration.

"He managed to thwart me _again!_ It's like he was determined to avoid even the slightest bit of justice this city could dole out to him…"

"Harvey, he's _dead!_" Rachel cried. "How much more 'justice' could there be?" she asked, grief-stricken. She hugged her baby to her and sobbed silently.

Harvey looked at her, bewildered. Why was she crying?

"Rachel…come on. He was a monster. Don't waste any tears on him."

"Now, all Jacob will ever know of his father will come from lurid tabloid headlines…he'll never have a chance to see him as a human being…but that's what you want, isn't it, Harvey?" Rachel spat the words at him. She stood, and walked off to slam the door of their bedroom behind her.


	8. Grief and Worry

Days had passed since Rachel heard the news about the Joker; her grief filled her mind and heart with a deep sadness that she just couldn't shake. She tried to do what she had always done in times of distress—to focus on her work—but somehow she just couldn't lose herself in it as she once had.

Her one bright spot, her one bit of solace was her beautiful son, dark-eyed and blond-haired like his father. Jacob was becoming a real little person, quick to express the excitement and joy of life typical of a healthy child that is being raised with love and respect.

It was a Wednesday evening; Rachel needed to hurry to pick up Jacob from his grandmother's house. Just as she stepped out onto the street, a police car pulled up next to her and Officer Ramirez leaned out of the driver's side window.

"Ms. Dawes! Get in! Commissioner Gordon says there's been a threat on your life and you need to come with me, _immediately!"_

Rachel stared at the officer, perplexed.

"A threat…? Who would threaten _me_…now?" _Oh, Jack, are you out there somewhere?_

"I don't know, ma'am, I'm just following orders…please, get in, I'm taking you to a safe place!"

"Officer Ramirez, I have to get my son, and I want to talk to Harv-…" before Rachel could finish her sentence, a man emerged from the back seat of the patrol car.

"Oh, my God…" Rachel whispered, before she lost consciousness….

***

Bruce Wayne entered his penthouse bedroom, tired and aching from a night of crime fighting. With the Joker gone, the run of the mill criminals he came across seemed like insects to be crushed beneath his boot. Bruce pulled off his mask and cape, carefully laying them over a chair until Alfred could come and collect them for cleaning.

Bruce was working on removing the rest of his suit, when his gaze caught the beautiful orange, pink and rose colors of early dawn breaking over Gotham's skyline. He sighed in appreciation, allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction at having contributed, in some small way, to the safety of its citizens. Suddenly, his eye caught a slight movement in the dark of the room. He slowly came to recognize the silhouette of a man against the light from the window.

"Morning, Bruce. Uh, Batman. Which do you prefer, once the mask is off?"

The hated voice, the mocking tone…Bruce wondered if he was having a hallucination. His brain refused to accept the reality of what he knew to be impossible.

"Joker…" he hissed. "You're supposed to be dead…"

"Funny, that's what my mother said, following the botched abortion…." An annoying snicker from the dark…

Bruce flipped on a light switch and glared in disgust at the visual confirmation of what his ears had already told him—that the Joker was alive, and in his bedroom. To Bruce's surprise, the man in the chair wasn't in his Joker get-up, no makeup, no purple suit. Instead, a rather frail-looking young man in a jacket, t-shirt and jeans sat calmly in Bruce's easy chair, his hand shielding his eyes from the sudden flood of light. The severe scarring was unmistakable, however….

And now, the Joker knew Batman's true identity.

Bruce waited to see what he would do, poised to counter a weapon or physical attack of any sort; but the Joker just sat quietly, peering at him as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"How did you find me, here?" Bruce asked resentfully.

"Rachel talks in her sleep…" Jack said mischievously, attempting to suppress a grin.

Bruce felt himself tensing, wanting to blast the disrespectful bastard with a fist to the face, but he maintained control.

"I'm calling the police…" Bruce said, reaching for a phone.

Suddenly, a small cry came from beside the Joker's chair. He turned and reached down to gather his son in his arms. He cradled the child, and looked earnestly at Bruce, who was gaping in surprise.

"Wait, Bruce. Give me a chance. I didn't come here to cause you any trouble…"

"What the _hell _are you doing with that baby??" Bruce exclaimed in horror.

"He's my kid, Bruce…I had to save him."

"_Save_ him? You mean, you kidnapped him!" Bruce was seeing red by now.

"No, no, no, _they_ were trying to kidnap him…I got him before they could get away…" the Joker explained reasonably.

Bruce was torn between the need to get a SWAT team on the move and the desire to find out what kind of insane yarn the Joker was prepared to weave for him.

"Just give me the baby, Joker, don't hurt him…" Bruce reached out to take the child.

"I'm not going to hurt him, Bruce! I told you, I _saved _him. But I couldn't…I didn't make it in time to help Rachel….and that's why I'm here." Bruce felt frozen; he waited for the Joker to continue.

"Bruce…Batman…whatever, I need your help. You have to help me rescue Rachel."

***

Bruce stared in consternation at the Joker. What kind of bullshit was he trying to pull?

"Rachel's _fine_, Joker. Out of her mind with worry about Jacob, no doubt, thanks to you, but she's _fine_."

Jack shook his head, staring intently into Bruce's eyes. He knew he had a lot to overcome in order to get Bruce's trust, but he had to try.

"No, she's not. They have her. And they _will_ kill her, eventually. We have some time, but not much."

"You keep saying 'they', who is 'they'?" Bruce asked impatiently. He had made a decision to give the maniac a chance, as long as he was being careful with the child….

"Maroni's gang…." Jack leaned slightly forward. "_He's really mad at me_…" he added in a confidential stage whisper.

"I don't understand." Bruce pulled up a chair, stalling while he tried to grasp the Joker's point.

"Maroni made sure I got sent to Arkham; he was going to have me receive the kind of 'treatment' that would make me willing to do whatever he wanted so I'd let him break me out of there. He wanted me to come work for him…and other stuff." the Joker added darkly.

"I knew that…so, I arranged for a little 'fake my own death' scenario…I used a corpse from the prison morgue; the van driver and the sedan driver were _my_ men. That one guy wasn't supposed to die…you'd think he would know to wear a seat belt, wouldn't you?" the Joker mused.

"Anyway, I was going to disappear off the face of the earth. I would have, too, but…" he started to reach into his jacket, and Bruce sprang into defensive mode. The Joker held his hand up in a reassuring "stop" gesture.

"It's just a cell phone," he said calmly. He pulled out the phone and flipped it open with one hand, then punched a couple of numbers, reaching around his sleeping child.

He hit "speaker" and Bruce heard Sal Maroni's smooth voice:

"Joker…you're a smart kid, but not that smart. Shoulda killed the driver! Oh, well, good try, though. Listen, I want to talk to you. You need to contact me. And, just to make sure you do, I've got your kid and your woman…just for safekeeping, you know? A little incentive…give me a call, Jackie, we'll work it out. But—do it soon. You know I get impatient…" The message ended.

The two men sat quietly for a moment.

"Maroni's got Rachel?" Bruce asked incredulously.

The Joker nodded.

"I headed straight for Jacob—caught the guy as he was climbing out the window with him. I took care of _that_ situation…I didn't kill him, by the way, although, I _should_ have…but Rachel was nowhere to be found. They must have got her as she left her office." The Joker bit his lower lip worriedly.

"Please, Bruce…I think I know where she is, but I can't get her back by myself. And we can't call the police—they'll never handle it correctly. Maroni'll have her killed before they even make it to the door."

Bruce stared at the blond man he hated, and found himself feeling felt oddly sympathetic toward him. He held his child lovingly, and, without the greasepaint, his expression was easy to read—he was worried sick.

"What do you care what happens to Rachel?" Bruce asked suspiciously.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Jack asked, bewildered.

"You're a psychopath, incapable of loving anyone. They made that very clear at your trial. So, why is Rachel so important to you?"

Jack frowned, unsure what to say. He finally shrugged, and said "I love Jacob. I love Rachel. At least, I guess this is…love. I don't want them to die, I know that." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair; he wasn't one to examine emotions too much if he could help it.

Bruce was figuring in his head; he could call the police, risk having his identity revealed, risk botching Rachel's rescue, assuming he would ever be able to find her in time, all so that the madman could be returned to Arkham, where, apparently, he would be at the mercy of Sal Maroni. Plus, who knew what the Joker's desperation would lead to, with the baby in his arms.

Or, he could listen to the Joker's plan.

"Ok…what do you want me to do?"

"He's holding her at a cabin outside the city…I can create a, uh, diversion…" He pulled his jacket open to reveal an impressive display of small explosive devices, and grinned….

"And you get in there and grab Rachel. By the time they figure out what's going on, we'll be in your fancy Bat vehicle, getting the hell out of there."

"And what, exactly, do you plan to do with the kid? Have him drive?" Bruce asked sarcastically.

"I thought the old guy…Alfred?...could, maybe, watch him," the Joker said helpfully.

"And what am I supposed to tell Alfred?" Bruce was getting exasperated.

"I don't know! Tell him Rachel and Harvey asked you to baby sit and…something came up."

Bruce grudgingly acknowledged that that would probably work fine. Then…

"You realize I can't just let you walk away, assuming this all goes as we hope…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll have to have you sent back to Arkham. But I'll make sure Maroni gets picked up and put away, so he can't influence what happens to you there."

The Joker laughed. "That won't stop him…but maybe you and Harvey can, you know, keep an eye on me…you don't want me working for Maroni. If you thought I was bad before…Look, I just want Rachel and Jacob to be safe. You can do what you want with me afterward."

Bruce stared hard at the Joker, wondering what sort of creature he really was. Rachel obviously had found something in him that made her care for him; maybe he _was_ as insane as the psychiatrists had shown him to be at his trial, and couldn't be held entirely responsible for his previous actions.

"What's changed? Why are you acting so…normal?" Bruce asked quizzically.

"I'm medicated out of my mind, Bruce…that's another problem, there's only so much time before I crash…we really need to get going." The Joker's look of bitter determination convinced Bruce. He nodded, and indicated the Joker should take the baby and go with him to find Alfred.


	9. Chatting

**A/N: Hey, everyone, another short chapter, more plot development, but hopefully some humor…thank you for all the reviews!! Keep 'em coming and let me know if you like the direction we're going in…**

The Joker grabbed Jacob's carrier, while Bruce re-dressed in his Bat suit, much to the Joker's amusement. The three headed downstairs to the kitchen; Alfred was busy preparing a light breakfast for his employer, and before he could turn around, he heard an odd and unexpected noise such as a disgruntled cat might make. Looking up, he found the source of the noise—a baby—being carried by a scarred stranger, accompanied by Batman, barreling into his orderly world.

"I see we have early morning company…" Alfred observed, calmly. It was hard to surprise Alfred, although this came close.

"Alfred, I need you to do me a favor. Could you take care of Jacob for a while?" Bruce asked, trying to sound casual.

"Jacob? Miss Rachel's little one? Why…sir, it's been years since I've had a tiny one in my charge, don't know if I can remember what to do…"

"He can eat cereal and spaghetti and stuff. Oh, and bananas." the Joker offered helpfully. "And there's some diapers and wipes in this carrier thing…" he poked around in the pocket of the carrier to make sure, then nodded.

"And, you would be, sir…?" asked Alfred, strongly suspecting he knew the answer.

"Um, this is Jacob's…father, Alfred." Bruce stated delicately.

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. Alfred, Rachel is missing…we're going to find her."

Alfred stared at the two earnest faces, reached for the baby, and said simply, "Then you'd better get going, eh, sir?"

Bruce and Jack glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. Jack stopped to plant a kiss on his son's head and give Alfred a look of gratitude, and the two men headed to the garage to get the Batmobile.

***

The Joker gave Batman directions to Maroni's hideout cabin. As they were driving, Batman decided to try to get a little perspective on the man sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

"So, the last time we spoke, you were offering to have sex with me," he said conversationally, hoping to discomfit the normally unflappable criminal.

"Oh, yeah…been thinking about that a lot, huh? Regrets do no good, Batman, just accept the fact that you missed your chance…"

Of course.

"No regrets…but, were you serious?" asked Batman.

The Joker laughed…."Uh, not really. Trust me, after the beating you gave me, I wasn't in good enough shape to hold hands…I was just trying to piss you off enough to kill me," he added cheerfully.

"Kill you? You know I don't kill."

"I know! That's what made it fun…plus, I really did want to, you know, check out. Permanently. If you'd of done it for me, that would have been icing on the cake…"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Well, I didn't. Regrets?"

"Not yet. Depends on what happens with Rachel."

"She loves Harvey, you know."

"I know. But she's got to stay around to take care of Jacob. God knows I can't do it, not that anybody's going to let me…"

Batman glanced at the formerly crazed madman and considered.

"You seem to have done a pretty good job so far," he said begrudgingly.

The Joker shrugged. "I've had him for, like, twelve hours, I don't think that's much of a test…" he said wryly.

"Maybe they'll help you, in Arkham. You're already doing better on medication." Batman observed.

"Yeah, surprisingly. They have a bunch of new stuff on the market…it never helped much, before…"

Batman had a surrealistic moment, realizing he was amiably chatting about mental health with the man of whom he had only recently been happy to hear of his death. Then, a logistical question came to mind.

"How do you know for sure Rachel is being held in this cabin?" he asked.

"Well, I don't, but I'm pretty certain. It's where Maroni usually takes kidnap victims. And he knows I know that. I believe he's counting on me to show up there—it's a trap. I _don't _think he expects me to bring _you._" The Joker winked, and grinned sheepishly.

Batman mulled that over.

"What, exactly, is your relationship with Maroni, anyway?" Batman asked curiously.

"Uh…it's…complicated," the Joker answered, uncomfortably.

"Explain."

"You know, you and Rachel have a lot in common. She won't ever let things go, either," the Joker remarked irritably.

"Oh, come on, what else are we going to talk about on our way to a firefight?" asked Batman.

"Ok, fine…Maroni sort of…rescued me. When I was a kid. Homeless, sleeping in the park, doing bad stuff to survive…he took me in, cleaned me up, got me legitimate work…of course, he's a damn pedophile…so, you know. I had to…do things…for him." The Joker was silent for a while, letting Batman grasp his meaning. The thought appalled Batman, but he passed no judgment.

"I got away from him, and a lot of…unfortunate things happened…things that messed my head up…I ended up asking him to train me for mob work…doing robberies, extortion, stuff like that. Eventually, I became a hit man for him, for a while…but I never liked being in debt to him, so I kind of screwed him over so I could get away…he would have had me killed, but…he, uh, _likes_ me…." the Joker added distastefully. "I think he always intended to bring me back into the fold. So, now, he's determined, and if I won't go along willingly, he'll force me to, or kill me. But not before he hurts the people I love," he said bitterly.

"No wonder you're crazy," remarked Batman, somewhat sympathetically.

"Yeah…well…I'm not the one in the Kevlar underwear," said the Joker, sardonically, with one eyebrow pitched upward and a grin tugging at his lips.

Batman didn't grace that with a response, and they finally came to the turnoff leading to the cabin.

***


	10. Rescue

Once the chloroform wore off, Rachel came to consciousness. She was seated in a chair, hand bound behind her back. Her eyes were bleary and it took a moment to get them to focus properly. She saw Officer Ramirez seated on a couch, watching her with concern. And a gun.

"You ok, Ms. D.?" she asked.

"_Ok_?" Rachel repeated weakly. "No, I'm not ok. Where the hell am I? What's going on?" her voice gained strength as she spoke. She looked around her, not recognizing her surroundings and not seeing anyone else in the room.

"I'm just following orders, Ms. D, I don't know what to tell you…"

"Ramirez…is the Joker involved in this? Please…you have to tell me if he is…"

"The _Joker_? He's dead. Everybody knows that." Ramirez didn't seem to be lying. Rachel felt her heart sink. If Jack wasn't behind this, then…who was? What did they want? Then, the horrible reality struck her—if anyone other than Jack had had her kidnapped—she could die. Where was her son? Who had him? Was he safe?

Would he grow up without a mother _or _a father? She was beginning to understand Jack's trepidation at bringing a child into the world….

Time passed. Rachel's pleas for news, information, went unanswered. She thought she would lose her mind. Ramirez had a walkie-talkie and occasionally went into another room; Rachel could make out bits of conversation, mostly along the lines of "She's fine…nothing's happening…"

Suddenly, a deep, loud explosion blasted their ears and rocked the cabin walls; Ramirez readied her gun. More, smaller explosions followed; Rachel could hear men outside yelling, and several shots went off. The cabin door burst open, and to her profound relief, Batman entered.

Ramirez shot once, twice; the first bullet missed, the second, Batman deflected with his suit; he easily disarmed the woman, and struck a blow that knocked her out. Without a word, he scooped Rachel up and carried her quickly out to the waiting vehicle; the entire area outside the cabin looked like a war zone. Acrid smoke filled the air and obscured vision. Batman strode rapidly through the smoldering mist, stepping over the unconscious bodies of at least three men.

Rachel's eyes were burning, and she started coughing as the smoke irritated her lungs; it was because of a coughing fit that she didn't see the slight figure standing by the Batman's vehicle. It was only when Batman put her on her own two feet that she looked up and into the worried brown eyes of the Joker.

"Jack!" she cried, instantly dissolving into tears of joy. She wanted to fling her arms around him, but her hands were still bound.

"Rachel…" Jack said softly. He turned her around and, with his favorite knife, deftly cut away the plastic strap that secured her hands. She then did what she had so desperately wanted to do the moment she saw him, and threw herself into his arms, sobbing.

"I thought you were dead! Oh, Jack, I couldn't believe it…thank God you're ok…where's Jacob?" She suddenly came to herself, struck with intense fear for her child's safety.

"He's fine, Alfred has him" Jack assured her with a smile. He wanted to do highly inappropriate things to her right at that moment, but settled for smiling broadly and hugging her.

"Ok, we can't take time for you two to make out." Batman chided in irritation. "Who knows if Maroni's monitoring all this." He indicated the destruction around the cabin.

The three piled into the front seat, and Batman took off at an extremely high rate of speed.

Rachel cuddled into Jack as he pulled the seat belt over the two of them. As she breathed deep, she thought she had never smelled anything so delicious as the combination of gunpowder residue and traces of smoke mixed with the Joker's own unique scent. She closed her eyes, so grateful for his arms around her, for being rescued, that it took several minutes for her to ask, "Jack…what the hell happened? Who was holding me captive? Why does Alfred have Jacob? And how did you survive the car crash?" and several more questions which poured out in rapid succession.

Jack glanced at Bruce in amusement, and began relating the whole story to her; the danger both she and Jacob were in due to Maroni's vendetta against him, his faked death, his claiming of their son from the kidnappers, and Batman's willingness to listen to his plea for help.

"Oh, Bruce, thank you! I know that must've been hard for you…" Rachel exclaimed.

"You have NO idea." Bruce stated sourly. It wasn't so easy watching Rachel snuggle happily against Batman's worst enemy, either.

"I imagine _Harvey_ is going insane, right about now." Bruce pointedly mentioned.

"Oh, my God! Harvey…I need to call him…" Rachel looked wildly around the Bat car; she had no phone, none of her personal effects with her…

"Forget it, doll, any communication at this point will be intercepted by Maroni." Jack warned, grimly. "Bruce can contact him on a secure land line after we get back to his place."

Rachel stared at Jack. She was beginning to feel the after effects of stress and of her built-up adrenaline ebbing away. Plus, she hadn't eaten or had any liquids for quite some time…she settled back against Jack's chest, and took comfort from his fingers idly stroking her hair and back.

"You rescued Jacob?" she asked, wanting to hear the story again. "Yeah," he answered shortly.

"Oh, Jack. Thank you, thank you for being there for him…."

"Yep…" The Joker wasn't used to being thanked for anything. He really wished she'd conk out, now, before she got weepy.

"When I think of what could have happened…" Rachel's voice cracked and tears started flowing.

_Dammit, too late…_

"Rachel, honey, shut up …Just relax, will ya?" he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. Jack wasn't used to comforting people, either.

Batman shot him a disapproving glare, and said in a soothing voice "Rachel, Jacob's fine, and everything's going to be ok. You've been through hell, but now we're going to take care of you, so don't worry." He gave Jack a "that's how you do it" look. Jack pulled one side of his mouth up into a sneer.

"Yeah, whatever. That's what I _meant_." he added snarkily.

***

Bruce pulled into the tunnel leading to his underground garage, parked, and they all trooped into the penthouse. They found Alfred in an old rocking chair he had fished out of a closet, holding a sleeping baby.

"Oh, Alfred, thank you for taking care of Jacob!" Rachel rushed to claim her child from Bruce's butler and at the same time, to give Alfred a grateful hug.

"It was my pleasure, miss, he's a fine boy." _In spite of the nature of his so-called father, _Alfred thought bleakly.

"Yeah, thanks…" said Jack, uncertainly. He knew his presence was no longer to be tolerated by either man. He went to Rachel's side and hugged her and the baby. He whispered in her ear "Do you trust me?" She turned to look at him; strictly speaking, the answer should probably have been "no", but she gave a small nod. He continued "Then follow my lead. _Please_." His eyes burned into hers and she nodded again.

Bruce was filling Alfred in on the events of the morning, and telling him his concerns for making sure Rachel and Jacob remained safe. It was only after he noticed that the Joker had Rachel and Jacob behind him and was guiding them toward the door that it occurred to Bruce that the man needed to be taken into custody.

"Hold it there Joker, what do you think you're doing?" Batman started to stride after him, but stopped short when he noticed the gun in one of the Joker's hands and the fact that he held something small and combustible in the other.

"I _think_ I'm going to say goodbye now—thanks for your help, both of you. It's time you took a break…and I'm gonna give it to you." With that, he tossed a small smoke bomb containing a knock-out agent between the two men, and turned to hustle Rachel and their son out of the building. Bruce and Alfred slumped over and down onto the floor, both completely unconscious.

Rachel gave Jack a questioning look, and he hissed "They'll be _fine_…the effects will wear off in about 20 minutes…now, _go!_"

Jack led Rachel to his waiting vehicle, just outside of Bruce's penthouse, and hurriedly loaded Jacob into a car seat as Rachel buckled herself in. The Joker jumped into the driver's seat and took off, heading out of town.

Rachel was quiet for a while, then, unable to stand it anymore, asked "Where are we going, Jack? Do you really think you're going to be able to escape?"

"You'll see, and yeah, I do," he said simply.

"I've got to talk to Harvey," Rachel pleaded.

"Nope, not an option, babe. Bruce, uh, Batman, whatever, will tell him you and Jake are fine. That's all he needs to know."

"Jack, you can't keep me with you forever…"

"Don't intend to, sweetheart. Just long enough for them to take care of Maroni. Until he's out of the picture, there's no place in Gotham that's safe for you two. No place…anywhere, maybe. But one. And that's where we're going."

Rachel gave up questioning him. She knew better; and, at this point, she wasn't scared at all. Just worried about Harvey, and curious as to what the immediate future held.

They drove a long time, far out of the metro area, into the surrounding farmland outside of Gotham City. Eventually, they came upon an old airstrip; a mid-sized plane was parked outside an abandoned hangar. Jack honked the car horn and a man came out. He checked to see the driver's identity, and then opened the plane's entry door for the trio.

Jack brought Jacob, car seat and all, into the plane; urging Rachel along. She felt a small stab of fear; where in God's name did he intend to take her? But, Lord help her, she did trust him, for some reason, and she took a seat with the baby between them.

The pilot fired up the engine, and took off.

Rachel stared daggers at Jack.

"When are you planning to tell me where we're going?"

"When we're at a high enough altitude to keep you from jumping. No parachutes on here, by the way," he said flatly, but his eyes twinkled at her.

"Jack…it was only very recently that you were found to be insane by a jury of your peers…why should I trust you?" she asked wearily.

"Because…." He cheerfully began pulling pill bottles out of his jacket pocket and showing them each to her in turn, a complex menu of anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and anti-obsessive medications, along with something for bipolar disorder on the side.

"With these little babies I can stay cool, calm and non-murderous for up to twelve hours at a time," he said, amused at her frown of concern.

"And you can _drive_ on all that?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, it's not advised, but frankly, most of them have worn off. Speaking of which, I should take my next dose." He began busily struggling with the child-proof caps on three of the bottles.

"Here, let me help you…" Rachel said, begrudgingly.

"Thanks…" he popped the pills and swallowed without water.

"Yuck, " he said afterward.

"Jack, pills alone aren't going to help you for long. You need treatment."

"I know. But I wouldn't have gotten it at Arkham,.anyway. " he said grimly.

Rachel noticed they were well up in the sky.

"Where are we going, Jack?"

"Mexico."

"_Mexico!_ Oh, my God…what's in Mexico?"

"For one thing, no extradition for escaped mental patients. Two, easy entry via air. Three, I have a little place there. Very secure. I think you'll actually like it." He turned to look at her bewildered expression.

"Just give it a chance, Rachel. Consider it an all-expenses paid vacation. One which is saving your life, I might add."

The plane stopped to refuel once, and then took off again. Jack had had bottled water, snacks, and supplies for the baby loaded onto the plane and Rachel gratefully re-hydrated herself and ate an apple and some chips before changing Jacob's wet diaper. The baby had accepted all the upheaval with fairly good humor and was laughing and giggling as Rachel cleaned him up.

Jack watched curiously.

"How often do you have to do that?" he asked.

"About nine million times a day." She answered.

"Ummm."

"It gets easier. You'll learn quickly—believe me."

"Right. I don't know about that…" Rachel gave him a look.

"Ok, ok, I'll learn. But, you know, yuck."

"Yeah, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Wait'll he poops."

"God."

"Why should I have all the fun? You're his daddy."

"Uh…yeah. Well, whatever. I'm so medicated, I won't know the difference." He said airily.

"You can't scare me, Jack. You just helped rescue me from Gotham's most notorious mob boss—I think you can learn to handle a poopy diaper."

"You, my dear, are an optimist." Jack closed his eyes…the meds were kicking in.

By the time the plane landed, all three passengers were sound asleep.


	11. Getaway

**A/N: Ok, ok, more plot. But we're getting Rachel and Jack closer to being, um, **_**closer**_**….Please review, love you so much.**

**Reeniecat**

The Batman came to, stiff and groggy. His body wanted him to stay asleep, but his brain made an urgent effort to force him into action. Once he cleared away the fog, he realized Alfred was still out. Bruce sat up and crawled over to his butler, calling his name and administering a series of small, sharp slaps onto his cheeks as he anxiously watched his face for signs of life.

Alfred's eyes fluttered open, and he slowly brought himself into a sitting position.

"Master Wayne, did the Joker escape?" he finally asked, still a little muddled.

"I'm afraid so, Alfred. This is what I get for stupidly letting my guard down…"

"I did tell you to watch out for the rabid dog, didn't I, sir?" Alfred asked.

Bruce stared irritably at the older man. "Yes, you did, you certainly did. Thanks _so_ much for reminding me…"

"He took Miss Rachel and the child?"

"Yes, he did." Bruce stood up and helped Alfred to his feet.

"Do you think he'll do them harm, sir?"

"I…I don't know, Alfred. Somehow, I don't think so, at least not in his current state of mind, with the medications he's on. But I don't know what'll happen when the stuff wears off…"

Bruce Wayne picked up the phone and began making phone calls.

***

Harvey Dent felt as though he was swimming in Jello; Rachel had never come to pick up Jacob; his mother had called to let him know that she had put the baby to bed, and was going to go to bed herself, assuming that Rachel was caught working late at her office, which wasn't very unusual. Harvey had begun calling her cell phone, her office phone, and, when he got no response from either, finally just drove to her office. He found her car, but no Rachel.

He called the police, and he tried to contact Bruce—the only other person he could think of that might have some idea of where she could be at that hour. But he wasn't answering his phone, either.

Harvey stayed awake all night, in contact with the police in the field. He was growing increasingly disturbed, only to hear from his mother at the hour of six a.m. that Jacob was missing. The police had no information whatsoever; in fact, the lieutenant handling the call dared to suggest that Rachel might have taken the child, herself, and stolen away with some secret lover. Harvey, already raw with emotion, let him have it in no uncertain terms.

It wasn't until later that morning that Bruce Wayne made the call to Harvey.

Harvey had the receiver in his hand before the second ring.

"Hello?" he asked anxiously.

"Harvey, it's Bruce. This is about Rachel and Jacob…"

"My God, Bruce, where are they? Are they all right?"

"Uh…yes and no. They're…with the Joker."

Harvey was dead silent. Not only did the statement freeze his heart, but it made no sense.

"The Joker's _dead,_ Bruce. Goddammit, the bastard _died_…what the hell are you talking about?"

"He faked his death, Harvey, and…he rescued Jacob from Maroni, and he helped me rescue Rachel from him, too."

Harvey's brain was becoming toast, but he tried to articulate his bewilderment.

"Maroni? Maroni's targeting my family?

"Not…exactly. He's targeting…the Joker."

"Huh?"

"He's trying to bring the Joker back into his mob family, and he was using Jacob and Rachel as bait."

Harvey was at a loss. How could a psychopathic creature like the Joker care enough about anyone else to be influenced in that way?

"You mean…I've lost my fiancée and son because of that monstrous piece of garbage?" Harvey's voice was like steel. He had felt emotions strong enough to understand how someone could commit murder before, but he had never felt_ this_…this cold fury. If the Joker had stood before him, he would have torn him apart with his bare hands.

"Harvey…I think he's trying to save them. I think he's taking them away somewhere to keep them out of Maroni's reach; he seemed…to care for them both, believe it or not," said Bruce, still amazed by what he had witnessed.

"I have Gordon handling this personally. But…the Joker's smart. They…they may not be able to catch up to him in time. And I haven't a clue as to where he would go." Bruce hated to say the words, but he had to make Harvey understand the gravity of the situation.

"We've got to find them, Bruce. Whatever it takes. Rachel is my life—I _will not_ lose her because of…_him_."

***

The Joker carried Jacob in his car seat to a waiting vehicle, and Rachel monitored his movements anxiously, watching to see that he wasn't too out of it to drive. He seemed ok, but she once again asked him "Are you sure you should be driving, Jack? With all that medication you're on?"

"I'm _fine_. The stuff that knocks me out is cancelled out by the stuff that hypes me up. My brain is home to a perfect ecosystem of psychotropic drugs." He cast a smug glance at her, and caught her face in his hand.

"I wouldn't take any chances with you guys in the car, Rachel. I promise," he said in a suddenly serious voice.

"Ok, Jack. It'd be a shame to escape from Gotham only to die on a lonely road in the Mexican jungle," answered Rachel scathingly.

"I completely agree," he asserted.

The two rode mostly in silence. As she had so often in the past, Rachel studied Jack's face, looking for clues to his thoughts and intentions. She didn't like how thin and pale he was, the after-effects of bad prison food and no sun for months…she wondered once again where he was taking her and what kind of facilities would be there, and if she would be able to cook some decent meals… she suspected she would count herself lucky if they had indoor plumbing.

"When's the last time you had a home-cooked meal, Jack?"

"Shit…probably the last time you cooked for me. Long damn time. But, don't worry, I didn't bring you here to do stuff like that. Anyway, Elena's a hell of a good cook."

_Elena?_

Rachel had to remind herself that if Jack had a Mexican mistress stashed somewhere, well, she had no right to feel jealous. Even so…

"Who's Elena?"

Rachel's tone wasn't lost on Jack, and he grinned to himself.

"Elena? Oh, a beautiful woman. Amazing dark eyes. Perfect skin. Really knows how to please a man, too…"

He glanced at Rachel's aggrieved expression and cracked up.

"Plus, she's like, sixty-two or something…she keeps house and her husband Carlos takes care of the grounds…hey, I've only fucked her a few times…" he couldn't resist adding.

"Jack, you are _such_ a creep," Rachel said in relief. They both started laughing, and Jack stuck a disc of Sinatra's Greatest Hits in the player. They began chatting about one thing or the other as the miles flew by, and somehow, they settled into an easy alliance that lasted for the rest of the drive.


	12. Jack and Rachel

**A/N: I believe things get a little bit "hot" toward the end of this chapter…let me know what you think!!**

**Reeniecat**

Their journey began outside of Cancun and ended up in a tiny Mayan town down the road from Tulum. Jack pulled off the main road, such as it was, and onto a dirt trail that snaked down through the jungle, then up over a rise which suddenly opened onto a clearing overlooking the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Rachel gasped in amazement at the turquoise-blue water, perfectly reflecting the color of the sky. Jack slowed the car, finally coming to a stop, allowing Rachel to take it in. She glanced over at him. His eyes were narrowed, watching her, with a crafty grin playing on his lips.

"Sorry, doll, nothing like Atlantic City, unfortunate-ly…" he said scornfully.

"Oh, my God, Jack, this is…paradise!"

"Eww, you think so? All this clear blue water and sunshine? I find it distasteful, myself."

"It's beautiful, Jack…your place is near _here_?"

"Mm-hmm."

He put the car in gear and drove until they came to a gated clearing. This was manned by a guard in uniform and a gun…Jack spoke to him in broken Spanish, gesturing to Rachel and Jacob in the back seat. The guard peeked in, smiled and nodded, and the gate swung open. They slowly proceeded down a long driveway lined with huge palm trees. Rachel was already in mild shock, but when they approached the house, she was stunned.

Instead of the clapboard shack she had envisioned, the house was a 50's modern rancho-style, with lots of wood and glass. Airy and open, it was outfitted with decks and landings on each of the two levels. Jack stopped the car near a sleepy dog that raised its head at the sight of the car and thumped its tail in welcome.

A small, older man stopped his work transferring plants between containers and waved.

"Bienvenido, Senor Jack! Esta es tu esposa?"

"Uh, not exactly…" Jack shook his head firmly and considered how to explain in his limited Spanish that, no, she wasn't his wife, but who and _what_ Rachel actually _was._

"Uh…es mi…amiga…" he lamely finished. _His friend…sure_. The man looked skeptical, especially when Jack went to take Jacob out of his car seat.

"Rachel, this is Carlos…Carlos, esta es Rachel and this is Jacob—mi hijo…" _My son…why not blow the guy's mind…_

"Ah, si! Bueno, bueno…" Carlos called to Elena, who came quickly out of the house and hurried down the steps to greet the new arrivals. Elena spoke much better English than Carlos, and she quickly swept Jacob into her arms, happy to have a little one to cuddle. She urged them into the house and immediately began setting food out for a quick meal.

Later that evening, after an afternoon in town shopping for clothes and other necessities, Rachel and Jack numbly sat on the couch together watching TV, while Jacob happily played on the floor. Jack was flipping channels, when his attention was caught by a Spanish language soap opera. His face became a study in concentration as he tried to follow the story.

"What are they saying?" he demanded of Rachel.

"God, I don't know, Jack, You speak more Spanish than I do…"

"Come on Rachel, didn't you take it in high school?"

"Yeah, but I don't remember much…."

"How come that lady's suddenly wearing a wedding dress?"

"I think it's a dream sequence."

"Why's there a cow in a tiara in the background?"

"Huh? I don't have a clue….maybe it represents her future mother-in-law? Jack, I'm exhausted. Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Come on, I'll show ya…"

He squinted one last puzzled time at the TV, hoisted Jacob to his hip, and led her up the stairs to what was apparently the master bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a bed and a dresser, but there was a crib set up in a small alcove, along with a changing table and a rocking chair.

"Wow, you've got it all set up for Jacob!"

"Yeah…I managed to get some messages out before we left."

Rachel admired the room, then turned to her host.

"And where are _you _going to sleep?" she asked cynically.

"Next door." Jack jerked his head to indicate the guest room.

Rachel was impressed; she fully expected him to at least make a serious pass at her, if not to come right out and attack her.

"Why, Jack, do you mean to tell me that you're suddenly going to behave like a gentleman?" she asked teasingly, walking up to him to affectionately run her fingertips over his scarred cheek.

Jack's eyes turned to hard steel; he grabbed her hand before she made contact and pulled it away.

"_Don't._" His voice was like ice. "Don't touch _me_ unless you want _me _to touch _you_," he hissed between gritted teeth.

Rachel felt a start of fear; she hadn't heard that tone in a very long time….

"I…I won't…don't worry." She tried to pull her hand back, but he held it tightly in the air for two more beats, then released it as though dropping a dirty shirt into a laundry bin.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving her feelings bruised and her hands shaking as she picked up her son to get him ready for bed.

***

The following morning, Rachel awoke when Jacob's squeals and babbles penetrated her consciousness. She got out of bed and scooped him out of his crib, took him back to the bed with her, and began nursing him. He was almost a year old, and she knew the time to give up this lovely bonding experience would be coming soon, but for now, she relished the closeness.

A sharp rap on the door startled her.

"Who's there?" she asked warily.

"Me." Jack responded.

"Oh…come in…" she answered. He sounded calm enough.

Jack strode in and pulled up short. He stared at the tableau before him and frowned in disgust.

"Aw, jeeze, you could have said you were busy."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jack, I'm feeding your son. It's perfectly natural."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, do you want to take a drive with me?"

"Where to?"

"I've got to find a doctor. For, you know, treatment. And refills for my scripts."

"Do you know of someone?" Rachel was thrilled to realize Jack was actually going to follow through with his promise to get help, but she tried to act nonchalant about it. She pulled the sheet up to spare Jack the alarming sight of her detaching the baby from her nipple and pulled her shirt down.

"Yeah, there's this German guy, he's retired, but…I hear he deals with people like me…successfully."

Jack bit his lip and looked distinctly uncomfortable, and she realized he was probably apprehensive about taking this step. She knew he didn't have much faith in psychiatry.

"Of course. I'll be downstairs in just a little while." He nodded and left her to ready herself.

***

The three of them headed southwest to another small town in the Mayan interior; Rachel felt like they had fallen off the edge of the earth. She decided to ask Jack some questions.

"So, did you actually buy that place?"

"Yep. Got a deed and everything…"

"When? Why? I never thought of you as having a…vacation home," she teased gently.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the original idea. You probably don't want to know what the original idea _was_, though…"

"Oh, try me."

"I was going to start a gun-running operation…."

"Too much information, Jack."

"Thought so. Well, suffice to say, I got sidetracked…by _you_."

"_Me?"_

"Yeah…when they brought me in and you had me in that damn interrogation room…all my hopes and dreams for world domination just flew out the window…" He waved his hand airily and shot her a wicked grin.

"So, the free world should thank me…"

"On its hands and knees…" he said grimly.

Rachel shook her head in amazement. Her thirst for information was effectively quenched at that point.

They arrived at Doctor Zimmer's house within an hour. The man was easily in his late seventies, but he was bright-eyed and spry, and he welcomed them into his home. He interviewed Jack while Rachel was shown around by the doctor's much younger blonde wife, Astrid. They ended up in the kitchen, having tea and giving Jacob a snack.

"You and your husband have a wonderful little boy, Ms. Dawes," Astrid commented in a light German accent.

"Um…Jack's not my husband. But, thank you."

"Ah…well, you obviously have a wonderful relationship…"

Rachel realized that Astrid didn't know much at all about her and Jack's relationship, and decided to keep it that way.

"Well…I really hope your husband can help him."

"He can. He's done wonders for many very troubled people over the years…"

_Troubled…ha. You got no idea, lady._ Rachel smiled stiffly. She supposed news of Gotham's crime scene wasn't a big feature of the Mayan lifestyle.

In time, Jack and Dr. Zimmer came looking for the women, and the doctor announced that he would be taking Jack as a patient. He had a number of recommendations for additional treatment that could be handled on an outpatient basis at a hospital in Cancun, and that he was very optimistic that Jack would respond well. Rachel tried to ignore Jack's cynical eye-rolling behind the doctor, and said a silent prayer that the doctor was right.

***

Lazy days passed. To Rachel's surprise, she found herself relaxing in a way she didn't even realize was possible. She would carry Jacob down to the immaculate sands of Jack's private beach—unbeknownst to her, under the watchful eye of a surveillance guard—and splash with him in the clear blue water. They'd play in the sand, then retreat under a nearby _palapa, _or grass-thatched shelter, to lie on a blanket. With Jake secured in a portable playpen, Rachel would doze off into an amazing nap, with the whoosh of the waves playing a soothing lullaby for the two of them.

Jack began seeing Dr. Zimmer three times a week, and checking in at the hospital on Thursdays for tests and additional counseling. At first, he seemed subdued, or even angry, after the visits and he tended to disappear into his bedroom or office to be alone.

But, gradually, he began to hang out with Rachel and Jacob more and more, and Rachel began to see him laugh again. Much of the old spirit that she had loved began to return to his eyes—without the mania, she was relieved to notice….

And, Rachel loved seeing Jack and his son together. No matter how soulless the man might have become, his little boy found whatever bits and pieces were left of the loving young man that once existed and knit them together again. Rachel had no doubt that, as much of a bastard as the Joker had been, and could still be, at least verbally and emotionally, he did indeed love his son. And…she had to admit…_she_ still loved _him._ Even though she shouldn't. Even though she had to try not to….

One bright afternoon, Jack emerged from his office. Rachel was in the living room, busy playing with Jacob, laughing and encouraging him as he shakily balanced himself in early attempts at walking. She glanced at Jack's face, and stopped dead—his expression was unlike anything she had seen, and she knew something significant had happened.

"Jack…what's the matter?" she asked, concerned.

"Just got some news, Rachel…Maroni's dead, Some rival mob hit." he said, flatly.

Rachel felt bewildered for a moment; intellectually, she knew those words should have a big impact on her, but…she looked into Jack's eyes and suddenly got it.

"You mean…it's safe for me to return to Gotham?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded slowly, and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He strode over to her and put it in her hand.

"You'll want to call Harvey." His voice was low and strained.

She took the phone and stared at it as if she had never operated such a device before in her life. Jacob had navigated his way over to Jack and was clinging precariously to his leg, begging to be picked up. Jack swung him up onto his hip, and turned away, as if he couldn't bear to watch Rachel's next move.

She stood up, flipped open the phone, and stared at the numbers. A million conflicting thoughts were swirling in her head; she looked at Jack, standing by the window, nuzzling his laughing little son. _My two beautiful blond-haired men,_ Rachel thought, smiling before she had a chance to censor herself. _That's it_, she realized. _Stop pretending_…she flipped the phone shut.

"I don't want to, Jack," she said simply.

"Huh?" He turned to look at her.

She held the phone out to him.

"I don't want to go back. I don't want to leave you. God, I feel like I've just found you…" She stood resolute as he stared at her uncomprehendingly. Since he wasn't coming to her, she went to him and put the phone in his free hand. She took Jacob and, to howls of protest, unceremoniously dumped him in his playpen. She then threw her arms around Jack.

"I love you, Jack…have for a long time. Maybe I always did…ever since I saw that crazy man across my interrogation table…I never got over that—your eyes…." She knew she was babbling but she couldn't help it.

Jack uncertainly slipped his arms around her; his body was telling him to throw her onto the couch and ravish her, for God's sake, but his newly under-control brain wouldn't allow it. "Rachel…you don't know what you're talking about…" he said gently.

"Yes, I do, Jack. I understand. If I stay here, there's no going back. Well, that's ok—I don't want to. I just want to be with you." She stared up at him, unwavering.

"I don't think that's a very good idea…" he said delicately. "You know…'found insane by a jury of my peers' and all that?" He rotated his finger next to his temple in the "crazy" gesture.

"I know…but it's been weeks and you're doing so well. You're taking your meds and going to therapy, and…."

"Yeah, things are ok for now, but what happens if the meds stop working? The doctor says they have to be adjusted from time to time. And what if I just quit taking them? Not a day goes by that I don't want to chuck every one of those damn bottles into the trash. Or what if some new symptom surfaces? Rachel—you can't count on me. Anything could happen at any time, and it could be dangerous for you…or Jake…like I said, this is NOT a good idea."

He took her hands from around his waist and held them firmly as he peered into her eyes.

"Jack, do you remember what you said to me in the recovery room, after your surgery?" she asked impatiently.

"Ah, _no, _I was a little busy getting over being sliced open by those butchers at Gotham General.…"

"You said you loved me." Her eyes were as intense and penetrating as he had ever seen them.

"I did? Musta been on drugs..."

"Yeah, well, maybe truth serum. You meant it, Jack, I know you did."

"_So?_ What difference does it make if I do? It doesn't change the fact that I'm fucked up and you shouldn't waste your time with me…and what about good ol' Harvey? I thought you…"

Rachel was getting angry—why did he suddenly have to be so rational? _Of all the times he operated purely on his id and ego, and now he's suddenly Mr. Voice of Reason…_

"Jack! Get it through your thick head, I'm not leaving, I'm not going back to Harvey, and I love you!" Rachel stood on tiptoe, grabbed Jack around his neck and pressed a passionate kiss on his scarred lips. His hands grasped her slim waist, and he gave in to her, their lips opening, tongues exploring, sweet, familiar, delicious….

Jack couldn't stand it anymore. He released Rachel and strode into the kitchen.

"Elena, could you watch Jacob for, um, an hour or so, _por favor_?" he asked in a husky voice.

"_Si, senor_." Maria liked playing with babies, plus it gave her a break from her usual tasks. And, voices carried in that house….Elena was happy to facilitate her boss's romantic entanglement.

"Thanks." Jack smiled and returned to Rachel, grabbing her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

***

One hour later, Rachel felt like she had been gang-banged in an alley behind a liquor store. Every orifice was buzzing from the friction of whatever body part Jack had chosen to insert into her, tongue, fingers, erection, and yet she still found herself eagerly kissing his warm, demanding mouth.

They'd started out stripping off their clothes so quickly that Rachel's underwear had gotten ripped. They hadn't bothered to pull the bedclothes back, and by now, the bedspread and sheets were in a rumpled pool spilling halfway off the bed. They had spent a good long time just kissing and touching each other, finding the places they both knew so well…Jack had started to get on top of her, but she stopped him.

"Need a condom, Jack," she said warningly.

"Aw, come on, baby, doesn't Jake need a little brother or sister?" Jack asked teasingly.

"Maybe someday, but not yet. _Condom_." Rachel remained firm.

"_Dammit_." Jack hated condoms, but he reluctantly rummaged in the nightstand drawer and found a box. Unfortunately, there were only two in it.

He held them up for Rachel to see.

"This severely limits my plans for this afternoon," he informed her.

Rachel giggled. "Hey, you just have to make 'em count."

"Yeah, _you_ make 'em count…."

He indicated he wanted her to start off with her mouth on him, and she eagerly obliged. Rachel never thought she would look forward to administering a blow job, but she found she couldn't wait to take Jack's erection into her mouth. Shortly before the activity went to the final round, Jack gruffly pushed her onto her back, took one of the condoms and handed it to her. She opened it and placed it on his member, stroking him as she fitted it to his length….

He knelt between her thighs and entered her. She felt herself melt into him; the sensation of being filled up washed over her and for a moment she couldn't move. His eager mouth was on her neck, nipping and nibbling, sending crazy tingles through her, and as he began pumping into her, she found her response and began returning his thrusts. Biting him, running her nails indiscriminately up and down his back, she gave herself over to his sweet, rough caresses. She spread her legs wider, pivoting her pelvis upward to give him better, deeper access, then later, wrapped her legs around his waist, gripping him to her, urging him into her.

As for Jack, he took her like a sailor on leave with a two-dollar whore. He hadn't had consensual sex in months and the sheer physical release drove him as much as his pleasure in discovering Rachel's feelings for him. The combination of their long pent-up emotions and deprived bodily needs was explosive; as each reached climax, the powerful rocking of the bed's headboard threatened to put a hole in the thin stucco wall.

They finished, lay back, and held each other, laughing; they had found a joy that both had forgotten existed… Jack was amazed at Rachel's passion for him. He'd often fondly recalled their wild adventures in his bed back on 23rd street, but even with Rachel's eventual abandon, there was always a veil of reserve between them, as though she was holding back to protect herself. Here, now, that was gone, all gone….

***

"I love you, Jack."

"Mmm."

_Great. This was going to be like pulling teeth…_

"I said 'I _love _you….'"

"Yeah…ok."

"Jack!" She pinched his nipple, hard, in frustration.

"Ow!!" The act jolted him upright. He cried out in genuine pain, then collapsed back onto the pillow, laughing.

"So, you're going to torture it out of me? Here, I've got some jumper cables you can use…." He made as if to get out of the bed to go fetch them.

"If I have to torture you to get you to say it, it's not worth it." she said, exasperated.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Jack said, "Look, I want to say it. I just…can't." He looked at her with his brows knit and his mouth scrunched up.

"Ok, Jack. Take your time. But you _better_ say it eventually, or I _will_ get the jumper cables."

He nodded. He really did want to say it. But…he really couldn't.

***


	13. A Family Now

**A/N: Turn the clock ahead…weeks, months. Some little vignettes—glimpses of Jack and Rachel's new life together as a couple….**

Jack was standing out on the shady side deck of the upper floor, idly watching one of the ever-present green iguanas stealthily work its way up a palm tree. He was shirtless, his left hand grasping the eave of the thatched overhang as he slouched, narrow-eyed, lost in thought…

Rachel spied him, came out and wrapped her arms around him from behind. She hugged him to her; burying her face between his shoulder blades; kissing him there; then she reached up with one hand while still grasping him tightly to her with the other and delicately ran her fingertips down the inside of his raised arm, ending with a mischievous tickle in his brownish-blonde underarm hair.

This ill-advised act resulted in her being picked up and unceremoniously deposited on a lounge chair, with Jack straddling her and administering a proper dose of revenge tickling to her mid-section.

"Jack, no! Stop it!" she begged, in between giggles and shrieks.

"Ah, you're such a lovely victim…" he growled in her ear as he splayed his fingers into her waist directly under her ribs.

"_But, I don't WANT to be a victim!"_ she protested.

"Then you shouldn't go around asking for it…" he said with a twinkle in his eye. He did stop, long enough to pull her skirt up, her underwear and his zipper down, and to quickly insert himself into her for a round of deep, satisfying thrusts, resulting in more, quieter protests….

"Nooo," she moaned, "someone might see us…"

"Aw, no one can see up here but the iguanas, heh heh…"

"Oh, Jack…"

Afterwards….

"I love you Jack…"

No response

Rachel sighed.

"It's been weeks, Jack. You still can't say it?"

Silence.

"Jack…just tell me. What are you afraid of?"

"Maybe I'm afraid of losing you," he finally admitted.

"_Losing_ me…_why_?" she asked, distressed.

"I've only ever told two people that I loved them, and they both died. Murdered in front of my eyes. I…I can't take that chance with you, Rachel."

Rachel wriggled out from under him and put her hand under his chin to tilt his head back so she could look in his eyes.

"Jack…your love didn't kill your mother or Claire. Believe it or not, you don't have that kind of power."

"I know that…I'm just not going to tempt fate again…" he responded irritably.

"Ok…if telling me that you love me is going to doom me to death, I consider that a legitimate excuse for not saying it. But, guess what…I think you _do_," she said teasingly.

"Shut up."

"I think you love me, Jack," she said in a sing-song voice as she rifled her fingers through his hair.

"Do not."

"Do so!"

"Shhh…you got a death wish or something?"

"Maybe so…maybe that's why I'm with you in the first place," she said thoughtfully.

He pulled her into his arms and shifted their positions so that they could lie next to one another in the chair.

"There's something else…I dunno. Maybe I can't say it because I know you don't really belong to me," he stated somewhat bitterly.

"Now, what the hell does _that_ mean?" Rachel asked, bewildered.

"I know the truth. You're having fun right now, pretending we're a cute little family. But we're not. You don't really trust me, and you still care for Harvey. I know. You never called him to tell him it was over. You never told him that you decided to stay with me."

Rachel felt as though he had hit her in the stomach. She pulled away so she could look him in the eye.

"Dammit, Jack—you don't know _anything. _You don't know…."

Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"…you don't know how it's eaten at me. I never wanted to hurt Harvey. I just think it's better this way—better that I appear to have dropped off the face of the earth than…"

"Than to tell him you picked me over him?"

"…Well…yeah…. I mean, I think that would devastate him. That's why I haven't called. I'm…I'm not holding him in reserve, or something! I want to be with _you_, Jack—forever. I'm not going back, and that's all there is to it."

"You know something Rachel, that's cold. And people call me cruel…" Jack shook his head in mock disapproval. Then he brightened…"But I like that in a woman! You're the one for me, toots, no doubt about _that_…." He grinned and pushed her back onto the lounge.

***

Rachel was in the kitchen with Elena, trying to learn the subtle art of seasoning the fresh seafood being prepared for dinner, when she heard the sounds of heavy footsteps and drawers being slammed shut from the top of the stairs.

"_RACHEL!!_ What the _FUCK_?!" came an aggrieved bellow from their bedroom.

She looked at Eleana, who shrugged in amusement. Her employer had never been anything but courtly with her, and she found Rachel's ability to turn him into a raving maniac rather charming…_Sólo cuando un hombre ama verdaderamente a una mujer puede esta crear tal furia dentro de él_, she thought. _Only when a man truly loves a woman can she create such anger in him_…Rachel left the kitchen to stand at the bottom of the stairs.

"_WHAT?!_ What are you _yelling_ about, Jack?" she responded in a controlled voice.

Jack, wet and naked after a shower, leaned over the stair rail, his eyes burning in fury.

"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY _UNDERWEAR??_" he yelled.

"I reorganized the dresser drawers—I needed more room for my stuff," she responded mildly.

"SO, YOU THREW OUT MY _CLOTHES?!_" Still yelling.

"No, idiot, I just moved them to the bottom drawer until we can get another bureau…you better get dressed, or you're going to give Elena a thrill she may not want."

He stared at her blankly, turned and went back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Shortly, he re-emerged, fully clothed, and clattered angrily down the stairs. He stopped in front of her, pointing a finger in her face as if ready to speak, then turned and walked out of the house. She followed him gamely.

"Jack…"

"Leave me alone…seriously, leave me alone right now."

"Jack, for heaven's sake, why are you so upset?"

"Because…you are _fucking_ with the liii-tle details of my _life_. What the HELL gives you the right….look, just leave me by myself for a little while, would ya?" Rachel's natural desire to try to diffuse the situation by teasing him fought with her better judgment and she nodded as she backed toward the house. _Mental note…don't fuck with the psychopath's underwear drawer_, she thought, both amused and slightly in awe of his new-found ability not to take his raw emotions out on those around him. There was a time….

The occasional glimpses of his past as the Joker served as constant reminders to both of them that there was a very good reason for him to be taking his medications and seeing his doctor on schedule.

***

"Jack, I want to have another baby." Rachel made her announcement as she was folding Jacob's freshly washed little clothes into stacks on the living room coffee table. She was seated at the edge of the couch where Jack was lounging, reading.

"Huh?" Jack was startled out of his concentration on a biography of a Nazi war criminal.

"You heard me. Jacob just turned two…if we get pregnant right away, by the time it'd be born, he'd be close to three. That's the perfect age span."

"Oh…ok." Registering no threat to his current comfort level, he went back to his book.

"What do you mean, ok?"

"Ok means, 'ok', let's have another kid," he answered absently.

"Just like that?"

"I believe I made this suggestion about a year ago…." _God, he was agreeing to her demand, what the hell did she want from him?_

"That was so you wouldn't have to use a condom."

"Well, yeah…but it still counts."

"You really want to be a daddy again?"

"Sure, why not? Doesn't put _me_ out any."

"Jack, not being bothered by something isn't the same as _wanting_ it."

_Well, fuck. Obviously, he was going to have to engage in this conversation…._

"Oh, so it's not just a 'shall we do this' question, it's a 'you're supposed to be excited about this' question."

"Yes! I don't want to be the _only_ one excited about it…"

"I'm sure Jacob and Elena will be thrilled."

Rachel was getting frustrated.

"Jack! Are you saying you _don't _want another baby?"

"I don't believe I said anything of the sort…"

"But, you don't?"

"Rachel, it's immaterial to me whether we have one child or twenty, but I would like to point out, anything over two means we're outnumbered." He waved a warning finger at her for emphasis, and picked up his book again.

Rachel wanted to smack him.

"Jack, you are the most infuriating man…" She turned to look at him in exasperation, her brow knit in an angry frown.

"Aw, come on, honey, don't be like that. Have all the kids you want, they're cute and cuddly and all…"

"_See?_ That's what makes me mad. You make it sound like I'm collecting teddy bears or something…"

Jack regarded her with a raised eyebrow. He got up, slapped down his book and went up the stairs. He was gone a little while and then Rachel heard the toilet flush. He returned momentarily, and when he got back to the couch, he tossed her now-empty birth control pack into her lap.

"Jack…what did you do?" she asked uncertainly.

"We're having another kid. Now, can I get back to my book?"

Rachel's face broke into a huge smile.

"Oh, Jack…."

***

Rachel was almost three months pregnant. Jack had begun working part-time in town at a mechanic's shop. He was looking for a legal way to at least partly relieve both his boredom and feelings of uselessness at being unable to apply his extensive knowledge of how to destroy things to anything of value in the Mayan jungle.

Rachel brought Jacob into town with her and persuaded Jack to go to lunch with them. At the local restaurant, Rachel made another big announcement.

"Jack, I refuse to bring this child into the world as a single woman."

"Huh?"

"I'm putting you on notice. You have approximately four more weeks to make an honest woman of me, or this kid's not going to come out."

Jack frowned at her, puzzled.

"Are you telling me you want me to marry you?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. It's completely your decision, but I _am_ holding your future child hostage. Just so you know."

Jack squinted at her.

"That's a pretty crazy thing to do…"

"You should know." Rachel smiled serenely at him.

Jack cracked up, laughing.

"You really want to marry…_me?_"

"Yes, that's what I want. And I want a proper proposal, in which we pretend we didn't have this conversation and that you thought of it on your own."

"Mmm. And, why four weeks?"

"That's about how long I have before I begin to show, and this entire town realizes that I'm a gringo slut, letting you bang me without benefit of marriage."

"They already know I bang you, how often and in what positions. Those walls are _thin_."

"Just marry me, Jack."

"Ah…I see how this goes. Ok. I'll…work on it." Jack nodded knowingly at Rachel. If the lady wanted to be married to him, ok. Her funeral…wait. Poor choice of words….


	14. Married

**A/N: I am so sorry to take so long to update. Sigh. Life is chaotic, maybe that's why I like the Joker so much…anyway, thank you to everyone for reading, and I deeply appreciate all the reviews, you make my day! Hope you like this, and if you don't care for the domestic insights, heh, well, future chapters will be more action-oriented, so bear with me! **

**Thanks, Reeniecat**

***

Jack was roughly thrusting into Rachel as she lay under him, moaning softly and pleading with him to fuck her harder. It felt good, what he was doing right then, but he slid his hand under her bottom, pulling her slightly higher and at more of an angle to him, and complied with her request….

Afterward, he lay there, grateful for the distraction that sex afforded him, but knowing he couldn't put off dealing with Rachel's demand—her other demand—much longer.

He wondered just exactly _what,_ in Rachel's mind, constituted a "proper" proposal of marriage. He supposed she'd want a ring. And, later, an actual marriage _license_. And then, a goddamn _wedding_. What a pain in the ass that would be. He sighed; as far as he was concerned, he was as married as he was ever likely to get, but no matter. He could adapt. That's what medication was for….

He waited until few nights later when the moon was full. Once little Jacob was soundly sleeping in his room, and Carlos and Elena had retired to their quarters, taking the baby monitor in with them at his request, Jack took Rachel's hand and asked her to go for a walk with him. They strolled down to the water's edge and stood looking into the endless dark of the water and sky, broken in two by the yellow moon. The lapping of the waves provided a hypnotic soundtrack.

Rachel figured something was up, but pretended to be unaware. She was very curious to see what her highly unpredictable lover would offer in the way of making an actual commitment to her—if that was even possible.

"Ok, look, Rachel…as you know, I'm not exactly a romantic kind of guy, so you'll just have to put up with this crummy proposal. Here's the deal--if you marry me, I promise not to be such an asshole all the time. I'll take my meds, father your children, and try to do whatever the _hell_ it is you want me to do when you're yelling at me, even if it makes no fucking sense. In exchange, you cut me a little slack when I'm in a bad mood. How does that sound?" He looked at her curiously and bit his lower lip, his brows knit in concentration. Being sincere about crap like this was exceedingly painful for him.

Rachel looked at him, both deeply amused and profoundly exasperated at the same time.

"You really do have a hard time with this relationship stuff, don't you?" she asked teasingly.

"Aw, fine, forget it, you don't really want to marry me anyway…." He waved his hand dismissively, and started to walk off alone down the beach.

"Oh, come on, don't walk off! That was a TERRIBLE proposal, really dreadful, but…it actually sounds like a pretty good deal to me, all things considered. I don't suppose I could get an 'I love you' out of it, hmm?" Rachel negotiated.

He stopped, his back still to her. He wouldn't turn around, but after a moment she heard him say something over his shoulder.

"What's that? I can't hear you over the water. You might want to come back here and actually talk to me," Rachel taunted him.

She saw him throw his head back in frustration, but he turned and came back to her.

"I _said,_ 'Goddammit to fucking hell, I _love_ you', what more do you _want_ from me?" His voice was stressed, and he clapped a hand to his chest and pursed his lips for emphasis. In the moonlight, she could see his dark eyes staring at her, aggrieved. _Time to let him off the hook_, she thought. She smiled at him.

"Oh, Jack, you actually _said _it!" she whispered, touched. "I could have lived without the profanity, but that's ok. I love you, too, and yes, I will marry you. And I promise to cut you as much slack as you need. Within reason, of course…ok?"

Suddenly, Jack's face broke into an all-over smile and he grabbed her tight, pulling her off of her feet. They kissed, and for a while they stood there holding each other, swaying gently in the cool night's breeze.

Later, in bed, after he'd kissed Rachel's just-beginning-to-swell belly and licked and sucked her sensitive nipples, after she'd straddled him and he guided his erection into her, after she'd eagerly rocked her hips against his shaft while he thrust into her…after they'd brought each other to the kind of deep, mind-destroying orgasms that they only ever seemed to be able to have with each other, he remembered to reach down and fumble in his pants pocket for a small box.

"Here, I forgot to give this to you. Probably would have been more romantic if I'd thought of it before we fucked, huh?" he asked delicately.

"It might be more romantic if you didn't call it 'fucking'," Rachel chided.

"Oh, what do _you_ call it, 'having _sex_?'…'intercourse?'... 'making _looove_'? Geeze. I don't know about you, but I prefer to _fuck_." Jack shook his head in disgust.

Rachel just laughed and opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous gold engagement ring with a flawless diamond. Rachel was amazed—the thought of the man who was as comfortable with plunging a knife into someone as he was peeling an apple actually shopping for an engagement ring made her laugh…and then, cry. She turned to Jack, snuggled against him, and buried her face in his neck.

"Oh, Jack, it's so beautiful, thank you…it's perfect."

"Oh, yeah? Then why are you crying?" he asked, dismayed.

"I can't help it, here, put it on my finger, will you?" She held back a sob, and offered him her now-trembling hand.

He shot her an irritated glance, but then relented, and slipped the ring on her finger, clasping her hand to him in a possessive gesture.

"There, now you'll have to quit flirting with all the shopkeepers in town…."

"I don't flirt with them, they flirt with me!"

"Fine, now I'll have an excuse to kill 'em…."

"No killing. You promised."

"I never said that…."

"It was implied when you said you'd take your meds and quit being such an asshole. Murdering people is definitely covered under that clause."

"Remind me again why I'm marrying an attorney?"

"You'll need one if you're going to go around killing shopkeepers…."

"Ok, fine, they're off the hook. But there's a reason for the damn rings, you're supposed to be off limits when you're wearing one."

"So, will _you_ wear one if I get it for you?"

"Oh, hell, no."

"WHY _NOT_?"

"Hey, I'm a mechanic, now, it'd get caught on something and tear off my finger. Harder to hold a knife like that, you know?" He made a stabbing motion, but was smirking at her as she groaned in irritation.

"I'm getting you a wedding band and you better wear it. I've noticed a fair amount of flirting between you and the _female _shopkeepers, you know," Rachel affirmed.

"Oh, I flirt with the men too, I get better deals that way…."

"Great. On that happy note, I'm going to sleep." Rachel turned over in a little huff and pretended to go instantly to sleep, but was actually admiring the way the ring on her hand sparkled in the moonlight.

He grinned down at her, amused to watch her tilt her hand back and forth like a kid with a new toy. He settled in, pulled up the covers over them, and slipped his arm securely around her. If a stupid ring made her so happy, well, good, that had been easy enough. And, if a damn wedding would make her even happier, ok, he guessed it would be worth it. A pain in the ass, maybe, but worth it.

***

Rachel woke up, nauseous, as usual. The damn morning sickness seemed to be lingering a lot longer than it had with Jacob, and was easily twice as harsh. She lay still in their warm bed, hoping that if she didn't move, the feeling would pass.

Jack was already up and dressed, sorting through his pill bottles, laying out his dosage for the day. She watched him, and a chill of worry overcame her. What the hell was she thinking, planning to marry a formerly psychopathic murderer? What if he went nuts again and killed someone? Killed _her_? What would happen to Jake, and this incubating baby that was still of undetermined gender, as Jack liked to call it?

She shook off the uneasy feeling, and carefully sat up. Jack noticed her moving, and absently called out "Morning, sunshine, up and at 'em, huh?" He was pondering which pill to take first, as if it made any difference. Some were easier to swallow than others, though.

"Jack…." Suddenly, a surge of nausea overcame her and she made it to the bathroom just in time. Jack was watching for her return, his expression knotted in a frown.

"What the hell's the matter with you, aren't you supposed to be over that by now?"

"Oh, thanks for the sympathy, sweetheart. It says in 'What To Expect When You're Expecting' that it can go on for months and months…."

He rolled his eyes.

"Great, real appealing. You're supposed to keep crackers by the bed."

"Crackers are disgusting." But it rather pleased her to know that he'd been reading up on her condition….

"Ok, I'm sorry." He pulled her into a hug. "It'll get better. Just six more months to go!" Jack grinned down at her, and she reluctantly smiled back.

"Men should have to carry the babies, like starfish…."

"The earth would be de-populated in a matter of months, trust me…."

"Or, they'd figure out a cure for morning sickness…"

"Mmm. So, are you ready for a wedding?" he asked, changing the subject.

Rachel's heart leaped; she had almost forgotten…_she was getting married today_. To…_Jack._ The escaped mental patient. The…dear, sweet criminal that she loved. She looked up at him. His clear brown eyes were filled with affection, and he was smiling lovingly at her. His arms around her felt strong and warm and safe. She nodded. Maybe she was the crazy one, but, damn it, _she was getting married today_.

***

The wedding was held on the beach, with a friendly, defrocked priest doing the service—Rachel had made sure he was still qualified to _legally_ marry them, not trusting Jack not to pull a fast one on her—and Carlos and Elena were their witnesses. Little Jacob was the ring bearer, although that basically consisted of Jack holding him in his arms during the ceremony to insure that he didn't run off into the ocean, or feed the rings to a seagull.

Everyone they knew from town had been invited, and there was a huge feast laid out on the lower deck for afterward. Jack wore a tailored black blazer and white shirt with jeans, and Rachel had a cream-colored long silk dress, with white flowers in her hair.

After they said their vows and exchanged rings—Jack had to laughingly wrestle his away from his son—they kissed and the guests applauded. Everyone knew Jack and Rachel. Their story was a mystery, but Jack had become known as a gracious and generous landowner, often coming into town with his little boy in tow, and Rachel had already endeared herself by volunteering and helping in the community.

Their wedding had been highly anticipated, and it didn't disappoint. The whole town would go home talking about how beautiful the ceremony had been, how lovely Rachel was and what a handsome man Jack was, in spite of the dreadful scars, and how wonderful the food had been….

Jack and Rachel packed up overnight bags for themselves and Jacob, loaded the car, and took off for a quick honeymoon in the tourist trap that is Cancun. Jack grumbled, but it was actually kind of fun, watching the foreigners from all over the world amuse themselves, thinking they were having a real Mexican experience.

They went to a club one night and listened to music; another, they had dinner in a restaurant that featured an exotic, beautiful belly dancer who unadvisedly came on to Jack; Rachel had to make it clear that she would regret it if she didn't back off, much to Jack's deep amusement.

On the final day of their getaway, they went out on an excursion boat, and Jack was slouching at the rail, looking off into the distance as Rachel and Jacob came up to him.

"What're you thinking?" Rachel asked playfully.

"I think…we should buy a boat," he mused.

"A _boat?_ What for? You don't fish, or anything…"

"Makes it easier to dump bodies…" he said flatly.

Rachel stared at him as he gazed, pre-occupied, into the horizon. She got the eerie feeling he wasn't even actually aware of her physical presence. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he startled, swiftly turning to look at her; for a moment his eyes seemed to shoot through her and she wondered if his medication needed to be adjusted.

"You ok, honey?" she asked, worriedly.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just thinking." He gave her a reassuring smile, winked, and took Jake from her arms.

"Let's get out of the sun for a while…."

Rachel followed, wondering if he'd been hearing that terrible rhythm in his head, again.

***


	15. Returning

**A/N: Happy Holidays!! Hope everyone had a wonderful time. As always, sorry to take so long to update, but the good news is I got a laptop for Christmas, so HOPEFULLY will be able to keep up better. Anyway, here we are, hope you enjoy--let me know!!**

**Reeniecat**

_Well, fuck. I really_ did _scare her…I need to learn to watch my damn mouth…aw, here they come, the nervous little questions, "You ok, Jack? Everything all right, Jack? Did you take your meds today, Jack?". Yes, dammit, I take the fucking meds EVERY fucking DAY, whaddya think I am, crazy? Heh heh….Does she really think I'd risk my family's safety? Does she really think I'm that far gone?_

Jack was loading the car for the return trip home. He hefted a suitcase into the trunk and licked his lips; he was keenly aware of Rachel's furrowed brow and sideways glances as she wrangled little Jacob. Jack could tell that any casual little comment he made was being run through some guide-to-the-freak database in her mind, as if she were Sherlock-fucking-Holmes, looking for clues to his psyche….

He chuckled to himself. Ah, Rachel, his sweet little angel-girl. Always trying to decipher him. It used to drive him nuts, probably because he was slightly afraid she would succeed….But now, he couldn't blame her, poor kid. She probably felt like she was living with a time bomb, just waiting for him to blow sky-high. _Hmm, what's that called, 'empathy'? Yeah…the doc's big on that. Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of it...._

But he _wouldn't, _damn it_. _Blow up, that is. He was getting better, she'd see, he'd _make _her see; she didn't have to be afraid of him anymore. She could finally relax and just live with him, be his wife, the mother of his kids. He wouldn't of married her if he didn't believe it.

The only problem was that, once he picked up on her fears, his oppositional nature called for him to start cheerfully fucking with her mind. Mmm. It was _so easy _to drop those little words and phrases--just so--sending her flying to the phone to consult with his psychiatrist while he snickered in the background. _Aw, I'm getting past that, though. Listen, that's another thing the doc's taught me--apparently, having fun at the expense of someone I love is NOT ok, especially when it makes them freakin' SCARED, ha ha ha...._

Besides, after the wedding and all the stresses he'd been facing over the last several months, it didn't take much for him to slip up with no effort whatsoever. There were moments when he himself wondered if he wasn't losing ground…but, that was a sign he was doing ok, right? Admitting you have a problem is the first step....hell, he _knew _he had a problem, jeeze....

As for what set her off today, it was that shit he'd said on the boat, he knew it. Always expressing things that reeeally didn't need to be vocalized….In retrospect, he could see how she would take it wrong. Talking about dumping bodies, what the hell was he thinking?

He didn't even realize he'd said it, at first…but, what was he supposed to do? Try to explain to her that he was grieving for a dead mobster? That he was caught up with memories of the guy that had had her _kidnapped_, tried to kidnap their _son_? How would _that_ make her feel?..._hey, there's your fucking empathy for ya!_

Should he have tried to explain that, at the moment Rachel had approached him, he was in the middle of a conversation with Salvatore Maroni from eleven years in the past, in another place, another _lifetime_?

_Yessir, Jackie boy, you and me make a great team…you don't take nothing' off nobody, do you? I like dat…you got balls, kid, you got a future in this business…I can go to the boss, put in a good word for ya, whaddaya say? _

_No, thanks, Sal, I got a kid on the way--I don't want to get mixed up with that kind of stuff…_

_Mixed up? Yer already mixed up with us! Whatcha gonna do, scrub toilets the resta yer life? How ya gonna take care of a kid on that kinda money?_

_I do ok, Sal. I'm waiting tables, now. Yeah, even with the scars...look, me and Claire…we'll take care of our family. Without your help._

_You never minded my help before…_

_I know, I know. You got me off the streets…you know I'm grateful for that.. But, I've grown up since then…and, anyway, I couldn't do what you're talking about. I…I could never kill anyone._

_Aw, come on, kid. It's just a job, like any other. I'll teach ya everything you need to know; and. there's lots of perks! Lemme show you something, see dis photo? You think I coulda afforded her before I took up a gun? Ain't she a beauty? Dat's what you can buy when yer makin' real money…._

_Yeah, Sal, a real beauty, but what the hell're you doing with a boat, anyway? You becoming a fan of the great outdoors?_

_Hey, makes it easier to dump the bodies, huh, kid? It's a business expense! Comes right off the taxes, heh heh heh…._

Yeah, that was a long time ago. Chicago…Sal was on a job, on loan from the Falconi family, he was a nobody back then, just a hit man, but he had style. He had probably been a bad guy all along, but, in those days, he had always been there for Jack.

Ok, maybe it wasn't exactly a healthy relationship…him, fifteen years old, laying in bed with Sal after he'd…Sal was the first guy that hadn't made him hurt when he did it to him. The first guy that treated him decently, even if he was just a cheap street hustler. Sal gave him the confidence to find a real job, some cash so he could find a place to live, showed him some kindness…eventually, Sal had gone back to Gotham, and then Jack met Claire, and suddenly life seemed to be going right, for a change.

Then Claire died.

_They killed her, Sal, her and the baby…they killed my family, Sal…_

_Jackie, I'm so sorry, so sorry…are you ok, babe?_

_No, Sal, I'm not, I'm out of my fucking mind…but, you'd of been proud of me--I didn't let 'em get away with it. I found 'em. I carved 'em up, Sal…_

_Jesus, Jackie, you killed 'em?_

_Oh, yeah…I never thought twice…never thought twice...._

_Listen, you need to get out of that town. You need to start over, kid. Why doncha come to Gotham, huh, Jackie? Come on up here with me, an' lemme give you a job…I think you can handle it..._

_Sure, Sal. I'm ready for whatever you got. There's nothing for me, here, anymore...._

Sal taught him a lot. Maybe it _wasn't _a healthy relationship. But, back then--it was all he had.

* * *

Jack drove toward home. He was quiet, and Rachel was running through all the things Dr. Zimmer had told her to watch out for. Extreme mood changes, erratic behavior...really, Jack was exhibiting none of those...he was probably ok. Probably just stressed out, what with the wedding, a new baby on the way, all of that...maybe she'd give the doc a call when they got home, just to see what he thought. Maybe Jack just needed some rest....

Rachel was just beginning to relax, slipping into road-induced drowsiness, when she felt the car slow down. Her eyes opened, and she saw a military vehicle blocking the road at an angle. It was strange--this far from the city, there were rarely any check points. And when there were, it usually involved two or more vehicles....Rachel looked at Jack.

Jack's eyes were narrowed, and his lips curled into an expression of displeasure. He didn't like the looks of this, not one bit. If it hadn't been for the two armed officers already stepping into the road to meet them, he would have simply gone around their vehicle. But he wasn't going to take a chance on being shot at.

"Stay in the car, Rachel," Jack ordered, as he pulled on a pair of driving gloves.

"What? Jack, what's going on, what's this all about?"

"Just stay in the fucking car, no matter what. Do what I tell you, understand?" He didn't look at her; he was busy assessing he situation. Rachel saw him reach down between the seats and bring out a knife....

"Jack! What are you doing?" she gasped, horrified.

"Quiet. Let's see what game we're about to play..." Jack's voice was higher pitched than usual. Rachel had heard that voice before...it was the Joker's. She suddenly felt sick.

The first officer, a small, squat man with a pistol in hand, came to Jack's window, indicating he should roll it down.

"Senor, please, step out of the vehicle. I will need to see your I.D."

"Sure..._Off-icer_," he sneered. Jack unfolded himself from the car, pulling himself up to his full height, which was easily a head taller than the man in front of him. He took out his wallet, and handed over his I.D. card, which, as Rachel knew, happened to be fake....she didn't notice the other, slightly taller and slimmer man come around to her side of the car. He was toting a rifle in one hand.

"Senor, there is some...irregularity with your card. Please, give me your wallet."

Rolling his eyes, Jack handed it over. Rachel glanced to her side, only to find the other officer peering in her window, with a leering smile on his face. He motioned for her to roll down her window. When she cracked it slightly, she could smell alcohol....

"La senora--que linda! I think she will need to come with _me_...." The officer giggled unpleasantly, and Rachel noticed he was fondling himself with his free hand.

"Senor, instruct your wife to get out of the car."

"The lady stays _in_ the car. You've got my money, now let's move on, shall we, gentlemen? Or are you in the mood for a little competition instead?" Rachel heard the Joker's voice taunting the men.

The two officers glanced at each other. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"Senor--turn around." The man with the pistol had hardened his voice, clearly trying to maintain control of the situation. He angrily brandished the gun at Jack's belly, then pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. The other man uncertainly brought a rifle up to his chest.

"Oh, good! Competition it is. Let's see who's the fastest shot between the three of us. I bet it's me." The Joker's voice had dropped to a deep growl as, in one fluid movement, Jack easily twisted the pistol from the officer's hand, aimed, and shot across the top of the car, hitting the other man square in the shoulder on his right side before he had a chance to register what was going on. He screamed, and fell back as he dropped his weapon. Jack turned the pistol and delivered a sharp blow to the temple of the squat officer's head, knocking him out cold.

Holding the gun in front of him, Jack ambled over to the other side of the car, and stared down at the wounded man, casually aiming the gun at his forehead.

"Get up, Romeo."

The man shook his head, frightened and shocked by his pain.

Jack bent down, took the rifle and tossed it away. He stuck the pistol in his belt, and pulled out his knife.

"I said, _get up_. Hey, would you like to know how I got these scars?" Jack dropped to his knees, beside the whimpering man. "Naw, never mind. Maybe I'll just _show_ ya."

He pulled the man up hard by his injured arm, causing a piercing screech of pain to echo through the jungle, and, patting him down, he found a pair of cuffs in the man's pocket. He forced the man to stumble to a tall but slender palm tree and secured him to it, cuffing his hands behind him around the trunk, painfully pulling open the man's shoulder wound even further.

With that done, he calmly placed the point of the knife against the man's cheek, causing him to yelp in terror as he pressed it lightly into the man's flesh without quite breaking the skin.

"Now, back to the demonstration...."

Rachel was watching and listening, and quickly called, "Jack! Stop it! Leave him alone!"

The Joker turned and looked at her.

"Ah, my little voice of reason! Well, this is your lucky day, pal. No knife for you. But, I do want to help you out with your little sex offender problem...are you familiar with behavior modification?"

With that, Jack kicked the man, hard, in the groin, bringing forth a strangled, pathetic scream of blinding agony. Jack then went back to the now semi-conscious officer, and dragged him to another tree, and secured him to it as well.

Rachel saw Jack stride over to the official vehicle, toss the pistol into the front seat, and then replace his wallet in his pocket. Jack used the car's radio to call in the location of the two men. He then headed back to his own car, got in, and in a few minutes, they were back on the road home.

"My God, Jack, what did you do? Who were they?"

"Well, judging by the two bodies in the vehicle, I'd say they were a couple of murdering scumbags."

"But, how did you know?"

"The military doesn't issues ill-fitting uniforms, Rachel. And it doesn't let you go around in sneakers. The Mexican military may not be the most honest organization in the world, but it takes pride in its members looking sharp."

"So...they were criminals...."

"Yeah, real highway robbers, how d'ya like that? You probably saved their lives, babe. I was...really getting a buzz going...."

"Jack...I'm so proud of you. You protected your family without killing anyone...you did so well..."

Jack shrugged.

"You know, I REALLY wanted to slice that one guy up. I feel like I missed Christmas."

"No, Jack. You...you're getting well. You really are." Rachel felt as if a giant weight had been taken off of her back. If the two men who threatened his family with rape and robbery, or worse, _lived, _that was as successful a test of his control as Jack was ever likely to face. Rachel scooted closer to her man and lay her head on his strong shoulder and hugged him. He looked down at her, and she saw once again how clear and loving his dark brown eyes were.

The Joker. He wasn't dead--she'd heard his voice, felt his malevolent spirit, but Jack had handled him just fine. And that was all she could really hope for. All anyone could hope for....


	16. Old Buddy

_The Joker was crouched in a defensive pose, his knife glinting brightly in one hand, ready to strike the very second the Batman came close enough for him to plunge the blade into a vulnerable spot in his armor. But in the blink of an eye, the Bat sprang at him, knocking him flat on the hard cement, throwing his heavy weight onto him, crushing into his chest with sharp, bony knees..._Jack awoke with a start and a cry, only to be confronted by a tiny blonde assailant, kneeling on his chest as he peered critically at him with a reflection of his own dark eyes, a frown of displeasure on his angelic face.

"You said you'd make me pancakes, Daddy," Jacob announced accusingly.

"Aw, jeeze, you gotta be kidding," Jack gasped in dismay. He was groggy and warm and the idea of navigating Elena's pristine kitchen at seven in the morning on a lazy Saturday sounded like sheer torture. What had he been thinking?

"Nooo, Daddy! You promised...." his son asserted.

"You did, Jack. I heard you," Rachel murmured next to him.

"I must have been drunk," he sighed, closing his eyes again, only to have his sight restored when Jacob inquisitively peeled open one tightly shut eyelid.

"What's drunk, Daddy?"

"Nothing. Look, how about you snuggle up in here with Mommy and me and we tackle those pancakes later? Like in about an hour? or two?"

"NOOOO!! Daddy, I'm HUNGRY!" Jacob was getting seriously frustrated and had begun emphatically jumping up and down on his father's chest.

"Oh, my God, ok, ok, I'm getting up, Christ..." He heard a muffled giggle from his wife and he turned an aggrieved sneer in her direction.

"I don't suppose you want to help...."

"Pregnant woman--sleeping!!" Rachel responded, her eyes determinedly shut tight.

"Fine. But I'm going to tell Elena it was all your fault when her kitchen catches on fire...." Jack started to get up, but remembered he was stark naked under the covers. Rachel had gotten into the sensible parental habit of slipping on a nightgown after sex, but he could never bear to pull on even his boxer shorts afterwards. The sensation of how Rachel's warm body had felt against his as he drifted off to sleep was much too pleasurable to interrupt with fumbling around with clothing.

"Listen, kid, you go on down and see if you can find the griddle for me. I'll be right there, ok?" Jack stalled.

"Ok, Daddy!!" Jacob's small face instantly lit up and he broke into a huge smile, now that his father was finally showing signs of life. He eagerly clambered down from his parent's bed and raced out of the room.

"Don't run!" hollered Jack, irritated. Kid was going to be the death of him. He struggled to get to his feet and pull on some clothes, and tiredly headed to the dressing area to take his meds. He became aware of Rachel's amused gaze as she continued to nestle, warm, under the covers.

"You, my dear, are a cruel bitch," he announced randomly.

"Oh, why, because I'm letting you wrangle your son all by yourself today?"

"No, because you are LAUGHING about it..." he cast a narrow-eyed glance at her, and she saw he was suppressing a grin.

"I've only begun to laugh...don't forget, you also promised to take him into town, today," Rachel mischievously reminded him.

"Oh, shit, you're right...dammit." Jack's hopes for a few uninterrupted hours of mindless dozing in front of the television were quickly evaporating. Being a father was somehow becoming a far more demanding task than he had anticipated.

"Is it too late to send that one back to the factory?" he plaintively inquired of Rachel, indicating her swollen, eight-months pregnant belly as she pulled herself into an upright position and slipped her feet into awaiting bunny slippers.

"Yeah, a bit. Sorry, but I thought being a daddy didn't cause you any extra trouble..." she gently teased him.

"Oh, it doesn't, not if I disappear into the jungle for the next eighteen years or so...." he parried.

"You wouldn't do that, you like me too much." Rachel stood, sidled up to him and slipped her arms around his waist, looking up at his scarred, handsome face with love. He gave her a look of mock distaste.

"Ah, I guess you're right. Plus, those Mayan women are so darn _tiny_, can't get a good grip on 'em..." He pulled her to him for a deep kiss. Just then, they heard a loud crash and an insistent bellow from the kitchen.

"_Daddy! Hurry up! _I found the griddle!!"

Jack sighed, swallowed his dose, and headed down the stairs, with Rachel's laughter following him out the door.

* * *

Jack loaded his son into the car and turned to kiss Rachel goodbye.

"Now, don't be gone all day, Jack, I'm going to have lunch ready around 1:00," Rachel cautioned.

"Don't worry, I just need to pick up some parts and stuff. And, I told Jacob he could buy the baby a present."

"Aw, that's sweet."

"No, I just figure he'll be less likely to try to suffocate it if he has some investment in it ahead of time."

"Oh, Jack, for heaven's sake. Jake's going to love the baby."

"Well, I never had a sibling so I wouldn't know, but I understand that it's kind of like bringing your mistress home to meet your wife, and oh, by the way, dear, she'll be living with us for the next twenty years or so...."

"Mmm. Good point. Ok, well, have fun, you two."

Rachel watched as the car pulled away and snaked down the dusty driveway. She smiled wistfully to herself. She loved her men so much, but it was nice to have the place entirely to herself for just a little while...she turned and cheerfully headed to the living room to catch a few moments of delicious solitude in her blissfully quiet house.

* * *

Jack led Jacob into Herrera's General Store, a kind of all-purpose, small department store, where one could buy canned goods, toys, clothes and car parts all in one place. He greeted the proprietor, Artie Herrera, and explained that he needed to peruse the car parts section while Jacob picked out a present for his little brother or sister-to-be--could Artie keep an eye on him for a few minutes?

"Si, of course, senor. Jacob is no trouble."

"He's almost three, Artie, he's turning into a damn cyclone..."

The man laughed and offered Jake a peppermint stick. Confident that he had a few minutes in which he could focus on finding a water hose and a few replacement belts for his latest car repair project, Jack headed to the back of the store. He was puzzling over the parts numbers on two different packages, when he felt a sudden rough touch on the back of his head as unseen fingers cruelly grasped a handful of blonde hair, yanking his head backward; before he had time to register the meaning of _that_, his forehead was violently smashed into the wall in front of him with a deep, sickening thud. He first saw black nothingness, followed by bright pinpoints of stars swirling before his closed eyes. The sudden flood of adrenaline into his bloodstream made him feel a little nauseous.

He dropped the belts he was holding, and, too stunned to react, felt himself being twisted around by one powerful hand on his shoulder as the other stayed painfully entwined in his long hair, to face the cold, dark fury in the black eyes of Bruce Wayne.

Jack blinked a few times and cast about in his mind for the proper reaction, which he somehow _knew_ wasn't to viciously knee him in the groin. He finally managed to find his voice.

"Why, _Bruce! _What a surprise, old buddy! What brings you to my neck of the woods, huh, pal?" Jack gasped worriedly, his face a study in pain and attempted good cheer. This was not good, he knew, not good at all.

"You psychopathic bastard, where's Rachel?" hissed Bruce in a voice choked with emotion.

"Rachel? Why, she's at home," Jack answered mildly, still a bit confused by the sharp blow to his head.

"Rachel hasn't been _home_ in almost two years, you fucking monster! _Tell me what you've done with her!!" _He drew back his fist and delivered a powerful punch into Jack's midsection. He gasped in pain, and doubled over as much as was possible with Bruce still holding his head up by the hair.

"Rachel's fine, Bruce!" Jack wheezed desperately as he clutched at his stomach. His rational mind was struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, in spite of the shock, pain, and adrenaline that was now coursing full force through his well-medicated system.

Although, as he regained his senses, the desire to reach into his jeans pocket and pull out his ever-present stiletto was becoming stronger and stronger. He really hoped Bruce would listen to reason...

"I want to see her! I want to know what you've done to her, you goddamn freak! Is she even still _alive?!" _demanded Bruce Wayne, in a voice harshly reminiscent of Jack's most vivid memories of Batman.

Alive? Jack was bewildered. Jeeze, why was Bruce so mad at him? Jack had been pretty nice to him the last time he'd seen him...oh, yeah. The last time...when he'd left him and Alfred unconscious on Bruce's kitchen floor. Ok, maybe he had a reason to be upset...but still....

"Come on, Bruce, Rachel's just fine. Hey, look, I've got my son with me, let's not do this here, ok? He's gonna be _scared...." _Jack spoke in a low, conciliatory tone, giving Bruce a hopeful, crooked smile. He forced himself to stand straight again and to keep his hands open and in the air in front of him rather than around Bruce's neck.

Just then, Bruce abruptly let go of his captive, and involuntarily pitched forward. His face was screwed into a tight grimace of pain, and he gave a low gasp as Jack heard a small, determined voice command, "Stop hurting my daddy, you bad man!". Looking down, he saw Jacob, clutching a small stuffed bear, deliver a second, well-aimed kick directly to Bruce's knee-cap. Just like he'd taught him, Jack noted with some satisfaction.

"Oh, boy. It's ok, Jake--this is an old friend of mine, Bruce Wayne! Bruce, you remember Jacob..." Jack had finally gotten back the use of his cat-like reflexes and had easily sidestepped the momentarily incapacitated Bruce, picked up his son and was limping back toward the sales counter, where, he was pleased to note, Artie was standing with a sawed off shotgun aimed directly at Bruce.

"You want me to shoot him, Senor Jack?" Artie asked, hopefully.

"No! Please, Artie, put that away. Bruce and I just have a little...uh, misunderstanding to work out." Jack cast a conspiratorial look at Artie and whispered, loud enough for Bruce to hear, _"I kind of stole his girlfriend, heh, heh_..."The man smiled, nodded knowingly, and Jack winked at him before turning back to his furious opponent. _Man_, he never could just shut up....

Bruce looked as if he was about to eviscerate him.

"Look, Bruce, will it help if you talk to Rachel? 'Cause, here, I'll get her on the phone...." With his free hand, he pulled out his cell phone and hastily punched in his home phone number. Bruce was advancing carefully on him, conscious of the man with the gun and of the small boy who had just inflicted quite an amazing amount of pain on him. He was not to be deterred from his goal of interrogating, and then capturing, the man who had been in his thoughts every day for almost two years, thoughts that fermented like cabbage for _kimchi_, but he stopped short when he heard Rachel's familiar voice come on the phone.

"Hello?" she said.

"Uh, _hi, _honey," Jack said awkwardly.

"Jack, where are you? You were supposed to be home half an hour ago, lunch is almost ready..." Rachel chided.

"Listen, babe, shut up a minute and talk to Bruce." He held the phone out at arm's length for Bruce to take.

_"Bruce?? _Bruce _Wayne? _What in the...? What's going on??" Rachel's disembodied voice had hit a painfully high note. Bruce woodenly took the phone in his hand.

"Rachel? Is that you, is that really you?" Bruce asked, stunned.

"Of course it's me, what are you doing there with Jack? What are you doing in _Mexico_? How in the world did you find us?" The enormity of the situation suddenly hit Rachel. "Bruce, is Jack all right? You didn't hurt him, did you? Is Jake ok? What's going on, somebody better tell me _right now_!"

Bruce was left with no doubt that the strident voice on the phone did indeed belong to the long-lost Rachel Dawes, and it was with profound relief that he stepped back, away from Jack's potential assault, so he could speak with her more privately.

"I didn't hurt the damn maniac, no, but I swear I'll break every bone in his miserable body if _he's_ hurt _you_, Rachel...."

"Hurt me? Oh, good Lord, Bruce, I'm fine! And, he's not a maniac, well, not anymore....Look, come home with Jack and Jacob, we'll have a nice lunch and you can see that everything's ok." Bruce's mind was reeling. Rachel sounded as though he had caught up with her family at the country club and she was now inviting him to the estate for tea.

The thought of getting into a car with the Joker gave Bruce a twisting pain in his stomach, but as he looked back at the slender, dark-eyed man protectively holding the small boy, it was hard to imagine that he might be putting himself in danger. And, he _had _to see Rachel...he had to talk to her.

"Bruce? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"So, will you? Come home with the boys?"

"You don't think he'll try to kill me on the way?"

"No, I do not! Jack has changed, Bruce, I swear it. Anyway, he wouldn't do anything to put his son in danger...so, _will_ you? _Please?"_

"I...I guess so."

"Great, let me talk to Jack again."

Bruce handed the phone back to his arch enemy, saying "She wants to talk to you." He had a moment of surrealistic disassociation and suddenly felt the way he had the first time he'd seen the Joker without his makeup, sitting casually in his penthouse, with little Jacob next to him. Maybe he _wasn't _dangerous; maybe this _was _going to work out, somehow....

Jack took the phone and said "Yeah?"

"Jack, bring Bruce back to the house with you and Jacob. And, don't cause any trouble, just be _nice."_

"_Back to the house? _But, Rachel!...aw, come on...he's like, _pissed..._what if..._._Ok. Ok, sweetie, if you say so," Jack muttered resentfully at Rachel's demand. He didn't like one single thing about the situation, but he'd promised to do what Rachel told him to in moments like this--moments when he clearly didn't have the best grasp of the correct thing to do--and he was going to keep his promise. Even if it made no fucking sense. He'd just have to trust that Bruce wouldn't try to overcome him with his kid in the car before he got to the fortress that was his home.

The two men stared balefully at each other. Neither trusted the other, neither was willing to give up the relatively even playing field they were currently in for the close confines of a moving vehicle, but both knew that there was one thing forcing their cooperation, one thing they both laid claim to, and she was waiting impatiently for them, both, to come home.

"We better go if we're going," said Bruce, his handsome features set in stone for the time being.

"Yeah. She'll be really mad if we ruin lunch...I have to pay for this bear-thing, though." Jack gently removed the toy from his son, who was snuggled up under his dad's neck, keeping a vigilant and deeply suspicious eye on the tall dark figure of Bruce Wayne.

Bruce hated hearing the familiarity the Joker used when speaking of Rachel, hated that he had fathered a child with her and somehow had her under his spell...but there was nothing to be done about it right now. If he could just talk to her....

Jack pulled some bills out of his pocket and handed them to Artie, who cheerily rang up the sale, and the two men and the boy headed to Jack's car, for a most uncomfortable ride through the Mayan jungle.

* * *


	17. Some News

Jack fastened the car seat restraints over his son's small body as Bruce Wayne settled into the front passenger seat.

Little Jacob didn't like this development. Not...one...bit.

"Daddy, why is the bad man getting in the car with us?" he asked, plaintively. His father often did things that didn't make sense to him, like reading books instead of playing outside, and sleeping instead of exploring cupboards, closets and desk drawers, and sometimes he frowned and yelled, but he never made Jake feel _worried._ The dark-haired man had hurt his daddy--how did he know he wouldn't hurt Mommy? Or, his dog? Or..._him?_

Having slid behind the steering wheel, Jack cast a disturbed look into the rear view mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of his son's expression. There really was no good answer for his question.

"Uh...Bruce isn't a bad man, Jakey. He's Mommy's friend, and he just wants to visit with her," he offered.

"But, he _hurt _you..." Jake pointed out, distressed.

"Yeah, but...." Jack's ability to rationalize Bruce's assault was severely limited unless he revealed his own past criminal behavior to his little boy, and that was something he was just not ready to do. Maybe he never would be, although he understood that, eventually, the day would come....

"And, I shouldn't have done that, Jacob. I...made a mistake," Bruce affirmed clearly. Jack shot him a surprised glance, then smiled in gratitude.

"Well, you're s'posed to say you're _sorry _when you hurt somebody," Jake reminded Bruce reproachfully.

Jack tried to suppress a chuckle at his son's audacity, but when he got a look at Bruce's exasperated expression, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, you're right," Bruce agreed with a sigh. "I'm..._sorry_," he said with a sneer of distaste to the man at the wheel.

"Oh, that's quite all right. We all make mistakes," Jack responded breezily. He gave Bruce a knowing sideways glance and turned on the radio to help prevent Jacob from overhearing the rest of their conversation.

"Bee-_sides_, Batsy...you've done worse," Jack spoke quietly but allowed his voice to reach a higher-pitched, near-Joker range, just out of perversity. "Put me in the fuckin' hospital, as I recall..." he stated, almost fondly. "_But_...you _were_ wearing your Bat suit at the time." Jack winked, raised an eyebrow and curled his lip meaningfully at Bruce. "Maybe we should go again sometime, you know, later, when we're on more equal footing..."

Bruce would have loved an opportunity for a fair fight with the Joker, if such a thing were even possible, but decided it was better not to take the bait at this time. He settled for gazing out the window at the Mayan countryside.

"How the hell did you end up _here_?" he finally asked.

"Oh, is it twenty questions time? 'Cause, I have a few for you," Jack responded.

"Anything I have to say, I'll say to Rachel," said Bruce sternly.

"Come on, Wayne, how'd ya find me? Who squealed? It wasn't Ernie, was it? Or Charlie?" Ernie and Charlie were his first henchmen, and the only two still alive who would have the slightest clue as to his whereabouts. But, there was also the pilot....

Bruce refused to answer.

"Hmm. You obviously put out a reward...musta been a doozy. And, you musta upped it, lately, or you'd of been here before...what's happened, Bruce? Why'd you have to find me, now?"

No answer.

"Ok, fine. But, let me tell you something...if you fuck with my family, you're _dead. _Understand?" Jack took his eyes off the road long enough to fix Bruce with a stare of utter coldness, and for a moment, Bruce was taken back to some rooftop struggle or another, staring into those cold eyes as he fended off a knife attack. Jack's subtle point was correct--if it hadn't been for his armor, the Joker might have killed the Batman long ago. Or, at least, severely damaged him.

"I didn't come here to make Rachel do anything she doesn't want to do," Bruce retorted, cryptically.

Jack knit his brows, frowning as he drove. He discovered it wasn't a good expression to hold for very long as the abrasion on his forehead throbbed painfully.

"So, why did you come here, exactly? You think she's gonna run back to Gotham with you? Take my son, and return to the arms of dear old Harvey? Hmm? 'Cause, that's not fucking happening." Jack spoke with a confidence he didn't fully possess. In the back of his mind was always the thought--"One day she'll wake up and realize what a mistake she's made. One day she'll dump my ass and I'll never see her again." But he wasn't letting Bruce know that.

"I have nothing to say to you, Joker. Rachel thinks you've changed, but you're the same psychopathic bastard you've always been. I can't believe she's chosen to stay with you of her own accord."

Jack bit his lip and pondered the statement for a long moment. He honestly didn't give a shit what Bruce Wayne thought of him, but if the Bat really believed he was a threat to Rachel, he would go to extreme efforts to bring her back with him. _Maybe I should quit fucking with him...._Jack decided it might actually be a good idea to convince Bruce of his improved mental health, after all.

"You believe people can change, Bruce?" he asked, his voice calm and reasoned again.

Bruce looked at him, surprised. He was prepared for venom, not philosophy.

"Well...yes, of course. But, they have to believe in themselves, and be willing to do whatever it takes to achieve their goals, no matter how difficult. I can't believe _you'd_ ever do anything but please yourself at the expense of others."

"You don't know me, not really. You don't know what I've done, what I've been through, these last two years. I'm _doing_ whatever it takes to be...the man Rachel wants me to be. To take care of my kid." He felt a hitch in his throat as he spoke, which was not lost on Bruce.

"Popping a few pills, keeping the knives locked up?" Bruce asked sarcastically.

"Going to therapy three times a week, electro-shock every six months, counseling, hypnotherapy, and yes, taking about five thousand pills every single day...yeah, Bruce, I'm doing everything I can. I won't hurt anyone anymore, not unless they threaten my family. I swear it." _'Course, I'd make an exception for you, ol' buddy...._

Bruce regarded his nemesis blankly. He knew honest emotion didn't come out of him easily.

"Well, I'll keep an open mind, then. But, I came here first and foremost to find Rachel. You'll just have to deal with that." Bruce was silent a moment; then he added begrudgingly, "You're not the only one that loves her, you know."

Jack shot a narrow-eyed glance at his passenger but didn't respond. He glanced in his mirror and saw that Jacob had fallen asleep in his car seat. They were approaching the guard station that led to his driveway, and he called "Jake! Up and at 'em, pal, we're almost home!" He reached behind him and shook Jacob's leg until he roused enough to wake up, and brought the car to a stop as the guard peered in to greet him. Bruce watched with some trepidation as Jack got out of the car and took the man aside to say something to him in private.

"What did you tell him?" Bruce asked suspiciously.

"I told him if you attempted to leave without my say-so, to shoot you on sight."

"So, I'm a prisoner all of a sudden?"

"God, no, I'd like nothing better than to send you on your merry way. But if you try anything...you won't make it far. Trust me." Jack leveled another cold stare at his companion, and Bruce got the message.

Jack began driving again and they eased along the twisting dirt road until they arrived at Jack's house. Rachel had heard the car and was anxiously watching from the kitchen window for their approach. Smiling, she eagerly stepped out to wait for them on the front porch.

Bruce's jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he took in Rachel's appearance. She was lovely, wearing a loose, sleeveless cotton sun dress and little gold sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a clip, but strands still fell charmingly around her face. The dry wind whispered over her, making the colorful print fabric of her dress cling to her rounded belly, emphasizing her pregnancy.

Jack was momentarily overwhelmed at the sight of her; it happened every time he was away from her for more than an hour or so--he was once again taken by her beauty, her very presence, just as he had been the first time he saw her. He smiled as he got out of the car, wanting more than anything to take her in his arms and squeeze her tight, but he could hear Jacob's protests at being left confined in his car seat, and he went around to release him. On his way, he couldn't help but grin smugly at Bruce's consternation at seeing Rachel's condition.

"You got her pregnant _again_, you bastard?" hissed Bruce in disgust.

"Gosh yeah, Bruce, keep 'em barefoot and pregnant, huh? Anyway, there's not a lot to do around here in the evenings...you know, read a good book, huddle around the fireplace, fuck your brains out...." Jack remarked airily. Bruce's mouth tightened as he tried to contain his aggravation at the disrespectful jerk who was now his host.

Jack turned to open the rear door and release the catch on his son's car seat. As soon as the little boy was freed, Jack was rewarded with a fierce hug around his neck. He then looked into Jacob's deep brown eyes and got lost for a moment. He'd never been loved like this in his life. His mother, he knew, had loved him. He could still remember her kind voice sometimes, if he thought hard enough. And he believed Claire had loved him, somehow.

Intellectually, he supposed Rachel probably loved him as well, too bad for her, although he found it hard to believe it in his heart. But Jacob _did _love him, unquestioningly, completely, with a faith and trust that filled him with joy, and with a sorrow he couldn't get his mind around. They smiled at each other for a moment, father and son, and then Jack turned and stared at Bruce as he embraced Rachel for the first time in two years.

Bruce Wayne. He better not try anything, Jack thought grimly. He _wouldn't _lose his family.

Not again.

* * *

In a hospital bed somewhere in Gotham, Harvey Dent dreamed feverishly of Rachel. Had it not been for the restraints on his hands and across his chest, he would have flipped himself right out of the bed.

* * *

"All right, everybody, I have lunch ready and SOMEBODY darn well better eat it, " Rachel announced firmly after greeting Bruce.

"I'll eat lunch, Mommy!" Jacob assured her, as he wrapped himself around her legs for a brief moment before running into the house. She and Jack smiled at each other. She went to him for a welcoming hug and kiss, and was painfully aware of Bruce's disgusted eyes on them.

"Oh, come on, Bruce, can't a wife greet her husband with a little kissy?" she asked Bruce teasingly.

"_Wife?" _he asked, genuinely shocked. The horrors just kept on coming...."You can't be serious."

"Yes! Didn't you tell him, Jack?"

"Uh...it didn't come up," Jack answered darkly.

"We've been married almost five months now." Rachel cheerfully showed her wedding ring to Bruce, who glanced apprehensively at it as if it were a gaping, oozing wound....Jack put a protective arm around her and smirked at Bruce.

"Yeah, so don't get any ideas, pal. She's a married woman now." He grinned down at her proudly, and they headed into the kitchen to get lunch on the table. Jacob had already crawled into his booster seat.

They sat down for the meal in tense silence. Determined to break the ice, Rachel finally began idly chatting about the weather. Then, she asked Jacob, "So, did you find a present for the baby?"

"Yeah, Mommy, a blue teddy bear. I almost lost it when I had to kick Mr. Wayne, though," he added reprovingly.

Rachel frowned. _That_ didn't sound good....

"Why did you kick Mr. Wayne, baby?"

"'Cause he was hurting Daddy...." Jacob' s large brown eyes turned accusingly to Bruce; he wasn't one to let go of a grudge easily.

"Bruce! What did you _do?" _Rachel asked, aghast.

"Uh..."

"Look, Mommy...." Jacob reached over and pushed the dark blond strands of hair away from Jack's forehead, revealing a dark ugly bruise.

"Oh, my God..." Rachel intoned.

"Come on, Rachel! He's the _Jok..._I was afraid he'd pull a...." Bruce looked at the righteous indignation simmering in Jacob's eyes, and lamely finished, "I may have over-reacted a bit..."

"And he punched him on his tummy, too..." Jacob dutifully informed her.

"I already apologized for that...." Bruce pointed out in a hasty attempt to defend himself against the moral outrage of an almost-three year old.

"Jack, are you ok?" It occurred to Rachel that she should be equally worried about whether Bruce was ok, but it appeared that, once again, Jack had maintained control over the Joker. She was flooded with relief at the thought of what had been averted....Still, now that she was looking at him carefully, she could see the toll the morning's stress had taken on her husband. She stood and opened a cabinet, and took out a pill bottle. She removed a blue pill and discretely handed it to Jack.

"I'm _fine_, and I don't want _this_..." Jack said, sourly, pushing the pill back at her. Rachel gave him a look, and he stared back defiantly.

"Jack, take the pill. Then, maybe you can take Jake up for a nap and Bruce and I can have a chat."

Jack hated when Rachel tried to micromanage him, but he had to admit, a nice extra dose of an anti-anxiety medication would help take the edge off...and, he supposed that Rachel wouldn't agree to run off with Bruce without Jacob, so...he reluctantly swallowed the pill, and scooped his son out of his chair.

"All right, we'll be upstairs. But..." He gave Bruce another meaningful glare, and was sorely tempted to take out a knife, just to remind him, but he shook off the urge and turned to head to his bedroom.

"Come on, kid, we'll go read a story while Mom and Bruce have a nice talk_..._let's see if we can find one with a _troll_ in it..._" _He cast one final, threatening look at Bruce and disappeared from view.

"Ok, Bruce, what's this all about?" Rachel asked, tiredly. Her energy was in short supply these days.

"First of all, can we go somewhere else? Outside, maybe?" asked Bruce, uncomfortably. He didn't doubt that the house was bugged.

"Sure, let's step out here." They went out to the shady side deck and sat at the patio table.

"Rachel...do you honestly mean to tell me you're here with that madman by choice?" Bruce stared deeply into his oldest and dearest friend's eyes, looking for a clue as to the reason behind her unbelievable actions.

Rachel sighed.

"Yes, I do. I know, I know, you think I'm crazy, and maybe I am. But--I'm happy. This is where I want to be, and I'm with the guy I want to be with, and you're just going to have to accept that!"

"You really believe he's..._cured_?" Bruce could barely say the word.

Rachel thought of the long litany of damage Jack's brain, his mind, body and emotions, had suffered from early childhood on, and the resulting conditions that Dr. Zimmer had carefully explained to her. She knew there was no way to convince Bruce in a few words of the positive results he was having. But she had to try.

"I don't think Jack will ever be..._cured_. Some of the damage he's sustained...it's organic as well as emotional and psychological. But, there are ways to control the illness. He's not perfect, never will be, but none of us are. He's doing his best, and the fact that both of you were able to return more or less in one piece from your little _confrontation_..." she gave Bruce a reproachful look, "shows yet again that he's doing really well. That's all I can tell you."

"Ok, then. I can't put into words how frightened I am for you, and have been ever since you disappeared, but I can see that he's got you convinced. So I'll let that go for now. But, I have a question for you--why haven't you contacted me or Harvey in all this time? You must have known we were worried sick."

Rachel bit her lip and stared off toward the water. She hated herself for her cowardice, and she would have much preferred never to have to think about her failure to tie up loose ends with her ex-fiance again. But she knew she owed both him and Bruce an explanation.

"I...I guess I couldn't bear to hear the disappointment in Harvey's voice. Knowing that he's gone through so much for me, sacrificed so much for me. I thought it would be easier for him to think I had just disappeared rather than to be told I didn't love him anymore. I was a coward, Bruce...selfish. I'm sorry...." she finished, lamely.

Bruce stared at her impassively for a moment. It was a piss-poor explanation for her behavior, and for the first time in two years, Bruce felt a swelling of anger at Rachel, herself. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and spoke, his voice raw with emotion.

"You're _sorry? _Well, I have some news for you. Harvey Dent tried to kill himself a week ago and is in a coma at Gotham General Hospital, barely clinging to life. His suicide note had one word on it--_'Rachel_.'"


	18. Meanwhile, Back in Gotham

_**A/N: Again, I apologize for taking so long to update. But I'm already working on the next chapter, so should get that up this weekend. This is a short one, plot development time! We'll get back to Jack and Rachel in the next one. Thank you for reviewing!!!**_

_**Turn back the clock--a few months earlier....**_

Jim Gordon sat in his office, irritably scrolling through his hundreds of emails, trying to find the one from Bruce Wayne confirming their meeting that day. He was sure Mr. Wayne had said one o'clock; it was almost 1:45, and he still hadn't shown up. Jim had way too much work to do to put his whole afternoon on hold, waiting for a billionaire playboy to grace him with his presence. Especially when he had nothing to offer the man but stale coffee. Stale coffee, stale thoughts, stale ideas....

No, he wasn't looking forward to the meeting. Bruce Wayne had been a regular caller or visitor ever since Rachel Dawes had disappeared at the hands of the Joker. He just couldn't seem to accept the fact that kidnap victims not recovered within seventy-two hours or less had only a very slim chance of still being alive. Rachel had been missing for over eighteen _months, _and still he persisted. Still, he held hope in his heart.

It wasn't unusual. No loved one was ever willing to accept such an ambivalent answer as "no one knows." But, most people, regular people, had limited resources and absolutely no influence over city departments. Bruce Wayne was different....

The woman manning the front desk buzzed him to announce that his visitor had just arrived; should she send him in?

"Yes, Carol, please do." Finally. He hoped this would be quick.

Jim stood up and extended his hand in welcome. Bruce firmly shook his hand, smiled, and the two men sat down across from one another.

"Well, Mr. Wayne, what's on the agenda for today?" Jim asked kindly, with false cheer. He knew the answer, he only asked out of a sense of duty.

"For starters, my usual question--any new leads on Rachel's disappearance?" Bruce also knew the answer to _his_ question. He asked it out of ritual. He also declined to acknowledge Jim's long-suffering expression in response to his query.

"No, Mr. Wayne..."

"Please, surely we know each other well enough by now for you to call me Bruce," he interjected.

"Of course. _Bruce. _No, there haven't been any new leads, just as there aren't any _old_ leads. You know, I completely understand how determined you are to keep this case front and center, I do. Rachel Dawes was a friend of mine as well and believe me, I don't want to take focus away from the case any more than you do. But...please understand, I don't want to sound cruel, but, based on my experience in the field...Miss Dawes is not going to be found alive. I'm sorry, I know how difficult it is for you, for all of us, to consider that, but...."

Jim didn't want to expound on the grim possibilities that might allow for Rachel to still be alive--such as being kept prisoner in a box under the Joker's bed, or locked in a basement for his amusement...he imagined Bruce had all too vivid ideas about such things, already. But the odds of discovering such a situation were infinitesimally small as well.

"Jim, I know the statistics. I'm a realist, and under normal circumstances, I would agree with you," responded Bruce. "But, the Joker abducted Rachel and her son right under my nose--I saw how he was with her, and with the child. I honestly don't think he meant to hurt them. I think he planned to take her somewhere safe, or what he thought of as safe, anyway. My fear is that, this many months without psychiatric care, the Joker will revert to his former psychotic condition, if he hasn't already. So, Rachel could very well still be alive, hoping someone will find her and help her get away from him. No matter what, I'm afraid time is running out before the Joker surfaces and becomes incredibly dangerous again. He needs to be found, regardless of Rachel's situation."

"Of course, Bruce, you're absolutely correct. But that doesn't change the fact that we still don't have a single lead or shred of evidence to point toward his whereabouts. The only people that might have known something are either dead or completely useless--there's one guy in Arkham who's been reduced to a blithering idiot, and another who has been interrogated over and over again, with no results whatsoever. Sal Maroni might have had an idea, but he's out of the picture, obviously. Maybe one of his men knows something, but no one's come forward to claim the reward. I don't know what else we can possibly do, we certainly have no leverage with the mob."

"I've been thinking about that. Let's up the reward."

"Mr. Wayne--Bruce--the city has only limited resources. We were doing well to be able to come up with $100,000.00. There's nothing left in the budget to raise it _with_."

"I, as a private citizen, would like to use my own money to increase the reward to $250,000. A quarter of a million dollars should shake somebody out of the trees that knows something."

"Well...I suppose it's worth a try. But, I think you have to face the possibility that the Joker covered his trail with dead bodies, or sufficient threats that no one is willing to take a chance on ratting him out for any amount of money, not even the mob."

Bruce nodded his acknowledgement, but he already had a check in hand. He gave it to Jim and sat back in his chair.

"There's another part of this problem that has me worried."

"And, what would that be?" asked Jim, tiredly.

"Harvey Dent. I don't know how long he's going to be able to go on the way he is. Losing Rachel just about killed him, but not knowing what's happened to her--and knowing that she might be alive, being tortured by that maniac--it's driving him to madness. I just don't know how to help him, other than by getting him the answers he wants."

"Is it really that bad? I know he's been taking a lot of time off...."

"It's pretty bad, Jim. I've tried to get him to go for help, but he refuses. Says he'll be fine once he finds Rachel. He's been trying on his own to negotiate for information with some of his old mob informants. Of course, he hasn't had any better luck than we have."

"That doesn't sound healthy for Dent, of course he would know better than I how best to work outside the grid with those people. Well, I'll get this reward re-posted, and we'll hope for the best," assured Jim.

"Thank you. That's all we can do, right?" asked Bruce, matter-of-factly.

"I'm afraid it is, Bruce. I'm afraid it is."

* * *

Bruce hurried out of the Major Crimes Unit, eager to return home so he could prepare himself for tonight's mission. He felt badly about not being entirely truthful with Jim; he liked and respected him a great deal, and sincerely wished he could be more forthright with him. But if Jim had known Rachel had left with the Joker _willingly_...he would never have fought as hard as he had to find her, and certainly wouldn't be on board with continuing to keep the case open. And, she _had _been willing. Bruce would never forget his last vision of her, the look in her eyes, just before he lost consciousness. She was leaving with the Joker, and she couldn't wait to get away....

And that business about Harvey...Bruce hadn't even scratched the surface of his concern about _that _situation.

* * *

Harvey Dent had the man tied to a chair in the basement of an old abandoned boarding house. He had a pistol in one hand and his lucky coin in the other as he slowly walked around his bloodied, whimpering victim.

"I don't know ANYTHING!" the man pleaded.

"I find that hard to believe, Eddie. You knew the Joker, you worked with him. Surely you have some idea where he would go, or at least, the name of someone who does?"

"I SWEAR...the Joker never said _nothin' _to me, he wasn't real communicative, you know? I'm tellin' ya, I don't know _nothin'_..."

"Well, then you're of no further use to me, are you? And, I don't want vermin like you going around dirtying up my city anymore...so, it's time for a little extermination..." Harvey raised the gun to the man's head.

"WAIT!! There's this one guy...he might know _somethin'_...now that I think of it, he used to help the Joker out sometimes...you should talk to him!"

"Oh, you just now thought of this, hm? Well, good, what's his name and how do I find him?"

"Uh, it's Joe Carelli, and he hangs out at a pawn shop on 85th street. Talk to him, I bet he can help ya!"

"That's good, Eddie, you did good. Now, back to my little vermin problem..." Harvey Dent flipped his coin and caught it. Shaking his head, he raised the gun to the man's head again.

"But, but wait, I gave you what you wanted! _Please!"_

"I know you did, Ed. But, as Gotham's DA, it's my job to clean up this city. And, according to chance, you're one unlucky rat." With that, Harvey pulled the trigger and blew Eddie's brains onto the wall behind him. He dropped his coin back into his pocket, and disappeared into the night.

* * *


	19. Will You Stay or Will You Go

_**A/N: Aughh! This has been the hardest chapter to write, for some reason. I hate it when the plot gets in the way of the story. Anyway, this picks up where we left off at the end of Chapter 17, when Bruce tells Rachel about Harvey's suicide attempt. Sorry, no smut this time! Later...I'll gratuitously sneak some in. **_

_**Thank you for reviewing! I'd appreciate any and all constructive comments.**_

_**Reeniecat**_

_*** * ***_

_Back to the present...._

Rachel stared at Bruce uncomprehendingly. Her brain acknowledged his words but rejected their meaning. Harvey Dent had one of the strongest personalities of anyone she'd ever met--which was, perhaps, part of the reason she had found it easier to leave him without a word rather than face his reaction to her betrayal--she couldn't believe he would ever choose to _give up. _Suicide? Never would she have imagined the possibility....still, Bruce wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true....

"Oh, my God. Bruce, what happened?" she asked in a low tone, her voice heavy with emotion. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and a sob brewing in her throat.

"He tried to...I was the one who found him," Bruce rasped. His recollection of his friend Harvey--damaged, bleeding, briefly still conscious but unable to speak--would haunt him to his last days. He struggled to control the tremor in his voice.

"He used a shot gun; something must have happened at the last moment--he was distracted, or he flinched, or maybe he changed his mind, but it was too late--the blast hit him on the left side of his face. It...tore the skin and tissue right off the bone. Some of the shot penetrated his skull, went into his brain...."

Rachel was familiar with the damage a shot gun could do at close range, and the thought of Harvey--handsome, dashing Harvey--forever disfigured in that way sickened and horrified her. The tears finally came sliding down her cheeks. Bruce gathered her in his arms and held her close as she sobbed.

"Oh, this is too horrible! What do the doctors say?" she finally gasped.

"As far as his appearance goes...he has years of surgeries ahead of him to regain a somewhat normal appearance." Bruce spoke slowly; he wanted to choose the right words, to explain fully without ripping Rachel's heart apart. If that were even possible.

"Due to his injuries, they put him in a medically-induced coma...there's no way of knowing what his mental state will be like when they bring him out of it. Or whether he'll have brain damage...Rachel, can't you see? I _had_ to find you--not only was I worried about your safety, but...I think you may be the only hope Gotham has of bringing Harvey Dent back."

"I don't understand, explain."

"Harvey began to slide into a mental decline ever since the Joker made off with you and Jacob. At first, he was so focused on finding you and bringing you home that he seemed to maintain pretty well. But, as time passed and there was no word from you, or about you, he...he began to slip away. I think the loss of his family combined with not knowing what was happening to you began to drive him mad."

"But, you told him we were ok! You knew I went with Jack willingly...."

"Yes, but as hard as it was for _me_ to believe it, Harvey utterly rejected the idea. He was sure you were under duress, or brainwashed...neither of us ever thought it was possible that the Joker would choose to get psychiatric care on his own. As far as we knew, he was keeping you locked up somewhere, using you as a plaything...can't you understand how terrified we both were for you?" Bruce's dark eyes bore into hers, and she began to put herself in his place. Had she really been so self-absorbed as not to realize how much both men cared for her? Had she so underestimated the Joker's terrifying legacy to Gotham? It was beginning to appear so....

"So, you think that seeing me will help?"

"I don't know, but I just don't know what else to do. Having you there to explain your actions will help him to understand what's happened with you, and maybe it'll give him some peace. I do think you owe him that much."

"Of course I do. But, there's a lot more to this than just hopping on a plane..."

"_No...planes_." The voice behind them was coiled tight, and sharp as barbed wire. Rachel's keen ability to pick up on the subtle distinctions between Jack and the Joker's tones of voice was being sorely tested.

"_Joker_...how long have you been standing there?" asked Bruce irritably. He took a deep breath, getting ready to confront the man.

"Long enough to hear _your _little bedtime story, Batsy...so poor ol' Harvey's blown himself halfway to hell, eh? Well, that's a shame...he was such a handsome fellow..._wasn't _he, Rachel?" Jack slouched out of the kitchen to take his place between his wife and her oldest friend.

Rachel turned to him, her eyes blazing in anger.

"You wanted to destroy Harvey yourself, remember Jack? I would think you'd be pretty happy that he finally tried to do it for you!" she spat bitterly. Jack's eyes narrowed and a sly smile played at his lips. He approached her like a cat with an injured bird, circling her with newfound interest.

"Ah, well, look who's still Harvey's little bunny, huh? _You _still _love_ him, don't ya, babe? Still ready to put up a fight for him. Just like when I first met you...so loyal...so beautiful...." Jack slowly ran his shaking hand over Rachel's smooth cheek. His voice had taken on a dreamy quality and Bruce had a stab of memory, of a mocking voice spilling from a red daubed-mouth....

"How much did you know about this, Jack?" demanded Rachel in disgust. "Why didn't you tell me what happened to Harvey, you jealous bastard? Were you so afraid I'd run to his side that you didn't have the balls to tell me he was hurt? Do you really have so little faith in me?"

It occurred to Bruce that Rachel was either unaware of or determined to ignore her husband's unconscious signals of distress, and he didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. He began to ready himself for whatever might come next....

"Annnd, it all becomes clear!" chortled Jack. "....It's _him_ you love, not _me!...._What a clown I was, huh? What a fucking fool. You're going to get on that plane, leave crazy old Jack behind, taking the boy and the baby with you...off to rescue Gotham's beloved white knight...." An unstable cackle escaped Jack's throat, and a deep, sick smile now spread across his scarred face. Suddenly, a knife was in his hand. He popped it open and held it in the air, near Rachel's face. He gripped her chin with his free hand. The high-pitched voice dropped in volume, and the dark eyes glittered.

"Ah, come 'ere. Look at me. Maybe Harvey would feel better if his little _ex-fiancee _looked as fucked up as _he_ does now, _huh? _This is aaall about Harvey now, isn't it? You miss him, right? Hey! You could go on _dates_ to the facial reconstruction clinic together, spend romantic eveningschanging each other's _bandages_, yeah?" The knife hovered ever closer, yet Rachel didn't flinch.

"_Stop_ it, Jack. _Stop it right now. _You know I love you. I just meant, you're always holed-up in your office, keeping up with Gotham's little doings, it's one of your obsessions--why didn't you tell me Harvey was in the hospital?" Rachel felt her anger dissolve into hurt, hot tears threatening to well up again, yet she stood poised like a fighter, her face inches from Jack's. Something in her eyes connected with Jack's brain and he clicked the blade back into its shell. He quickly dropped it into his pocket and looked away. Bruce detected an almost physical act of will being imposed on the man's psyche, and he, himself, relaxed slightly. Jack returned his gaze to Rachel, and the demented smile was gone.

"I didn't know a fucking thing about it, Rachel." Jack's tone dropped to his normal, deeper range, but the words were choked. The haziness had dropped from his eyes and he stared nakedly at his wife, shaking his head as a wracking shiver tore through his entire body; he needed a dose of something...maybe several somethings....

"Rachel...he's right." As much as Bruce hated defending his enemy, he was grateful to be able to help diffuse the situation without violence.

"I made damn sure no one knew what happened to Harvey," continued Bruce. "He's in the hospital under a fake name, with only trusted personnel tending to him. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Harvey's on a ski vacation in Colorado. Jack wouldn't have heard anything about his...injuries."

Rachel gravely contemplated Bruce's statement; she knew that everything Jack had said, no matter how cruel, was an expression of his deep insecurity and fear of loss. She looked back at the man she loved and suddenly felt a powerful wave of sorrow and regret wash over her. She was beginning to think she had no business being involved with _any _man....

"Oh...oh, Jack, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...." Rachel went to him and hugged him fiercely. "I just thought you were...forgive me, please, baby...I love you, I don't want to leave you, don't ever want to leave you..." Rachel was painfully aware that she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself.

Jack returned her embrace in bewilderment. He almost felt disassociated from what was happening around him, and was keenly aware of the fight within himself, struggling to maintain his tenuous grip on reality.

Just then, a small voice complained, "Daddy! I woke up and you weren't there..." Jacob stood behind the trio, holding a stuffed bear and rubbing his eyes. Jack turned and quickly went to scoop up his still sleepy little boy.

"I'm sorry, son, I'm right here...always be right here..." he murmured into blond curls. The boy nestled into his father's neck, almost instantly falling back to sleep, and Jack closed his eyes, breathing in the clean, sweet scent of his child as he held him tightly. Reality was in his arms and he wasn't going to let it go...after a long moment, he turned back to Rachel.

"I'm...sorry, baby. I was just so...I shouldn't have...you know I wouldn't have hurt you..." Jack's voice broke; he wouldn't have blamed Rachel if she had taken Jacob out of his arms and run to the nearest car with Bruce. But she just came to his side and slipped her arms around him.

"It's ok...it's ok. This is terribly stressful, for both of us. But, Jack, we have to talk about it...we have to decide what to do." Rachel's calm voice soothed Jack and he felt a shred of normalcy begin to return to his mind. He looked at Bruce.

"Harvey's future is at stake, Jack," reminded Bruce.

"See, Bruce, you're overlooking one little thing...I don't give a shit about Harvey Dent. If he dies, he dies, if he's a vegetable, too bad. All I care about is _my family," _Jack stated calmly but firmly.

"But you say you love Rachel, can you really ask her to live with the guilt of knowing that she could have helped Harvey, but chose not to?"

"You'd be surprised how easy that is for me...and I know exactly what to do, Rachel. I'm going to drive Mr. Wayne back into town and bid him farewell. And he's not going to reveal our whereabouts to the dear folks back home because he knows I'll make sure Gotham becomes aware of the Batman's true identity. Right, Bruce?"

"Ok, wait," Bruce spoke up. "Please, Joker..._Jack. _I understand how hard it is for you to even think about what I'm asking. But...there's more to this than what I've said." Bruce had not come with the intention of revealing his true concerns, not to Rachel, and certainly not to the damn Joker, but he was beginning to realize he didn't have a choice. It was going to be all or nothing, apparently.

"As I said, Harvey's been going through a lot...he decided to try to find you, Jack, by going underground and talking to some of your old mob buddies...."

Jack snickered.

"Well, good luck with that...."

"Right. Well, apparently, luck _wasn't_ with him. And...a few weeks ago...a mob informant turned up dead--bound, tortured, and shot to death. Then, there was another case like it a few days later. I...well, Batman...decided to find out what was going on. I began patrolling the area where the bodies were discovered. One night, I saw Harvey. He was leaving an old abandoned building in the early hours of the morning. I went in and found another dead mobster."

"After that, I began following Harvey. Nothing happened for a few nights, but then...he headed out to that part of town. I lost him...but the next day--another body."

"I didn't have any evidence, but.... One night, I paid him a visit--as Bruce. I was at his front door when I heard a gunshot inside his apartment--I broke in, and found him. The window was open, on a cold night...I think someone was in there. Only Harvey's prints were on the gun, but...I'm not entirely convinced that he tried to kill himself."

"You said he left a note..." said Rachel, painfully.

"He once told me he was in the habit of writing little notes to you and placing them around the apartment for you to find when you returned...I think he was writing one when he got interrupted. This is just speculation...but either Harvey tried to kill himself, or he's got the mob after him. And...I think he's become a vigilante."

"Like _you_..." Jack said with a Joker-ly inflection and grim smile.

"Sure...with one exception. I'm not a killer."

"Bruce...if Harvey's...killed people...everything he worked so hard to achieve will be destroyed," Rachel miserably observed.

"Yes."

"Jack, I'm going to have to go..."

"NO. There is no way I'm going to allow my pregnant wife to get on a plane and go back to her half-dead ex-boyfriend in Gotham City! You think I'm crazy now, Wayne? See what happens if you try to take her from me." Jack's eyes blazed with anger, but there was no touch of madness to them now. Bruce understood he was facing the protective fury of a man in love.

Rachel looked at Jack and felt pride, as well as, oddly, a surge of lust; _he's beautiful when he's angry_, she thought in grim amusement. The wind coming off the ocean blew dark blond curls around his face, revealing his narrowed, dark eyes. Her gaze followed the line of tension in the set of his strong jaw as he stared down the man who had once so severely beaten him as to have rearranged some vital organs, leaving her feeling a little weak in the knees.

Bruce remembered him as a tricky, scrappy fighter, never above pulling some dirty street techniques in hand to hand combat, but even at his worst, the Joker had never seemed _angry_--this was a different side of the man, and Bruce had to respect him for it.

Rachel knew one thing--Jack would never agree to her leaving without him at her side. Maybe....

"Bruce--you have to figure out a way that we can all go back, together. As a family," demanded Rachel, suddenly.

"_NO!!" _yelled Jack. "_I'm_ sure as hell not going back there! They'll lock me up so fast...." The sheer idiocy of the idea left him speechless.

"Maybe not," mused Bruce. "I have to contact Jim Gordon. I think we could work something out..."

"You've all lost your fucking minds. Rachel, I've said it before--you're crazier than I am--in spades. I'm taking Jacob inside, you two cook up whatever little plan you want, but _I'm_ not leaving, _Jake's_ not leaving, and, sweetheart,YOU'RE not leaving. You, however, ARE," Jack asserted to Bruce with a jab of his forefinger. The whole effect was slightly diminished as his sleeping child stirred, yawned, and cuddled up closer into his shoulder. Nevertheless, Jack turned on his heel and headed back in the house.

Rachel watched Jack disappear, then turned to Bruce.

"How can we make this work?"

"Let me make some calls."

* * *


	20. What's the Plan?

_**A/N: Little bit of a short chapter this time, but if I kept going I'd never get it posted this weekend. A bit of smut toward the end, not too gratuitous, it's actually kind of part of the plot...ha ha! Please, reviews, they feel so good...**_

_* * *_

Bruce was able to reach Jim Gordon.

"Jim, it's Bruce."

"Yeah, how are you, Bruce?" asked Jim, disguising his weariness. He didn't have time for this....

"I'm fine. I have some news."

"You do? What is it?"

"I found Rachel."

Jim was stunned into silence.

"You...you what?" he gasped weakly.

"I found her, I'm here with her now."

"And, she's _alive?"_

"Yes."

Jim's brain was busy trying to organize his thoughts enough to ask an intelligent follow-up question.

"Uh...well, is she _ok?"_ he asked, bewildered.

"Yes, she's fine. And...they're..._married," _Bruce informed Jim, forming the words as distastefully as if he were saying "They're..._necrophiliacs"._

"_Who's_ married?"

"Rachel and the Joker. He goes by 'Jack' now, by the way...." Bruce was now having a bit of fun out of the miserable situation, enjoying the blowing of Jim's rational mind.

"You're funny, Bruce."

"I'm completely serious. She's also expecting their second child."

"Bruce...you _are _serious, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh. I'm not happy about it, but...there it is."

"Oh, my Lord, you mean, he's there, too? What did he _do_ to her!"

"Nothing. Well, nothing, uh, bad, I guess. Jim, the truth is that Rachel left Gotham with that lunatic of her own accord. She fell in love with him a...a long time ago. It's complicated, and I'll be glad to explain it all to you at a later date, but right now, I have to figure out how to bring Rachel, Jacob, and the escaped mental patient formerly known as the Joker back to Gotham so Rachel can try to help Harvey."

"_What?! _The Joker is willing to come back here? He'll be arrested on sight, if I don't shoot him first, myself!"

"That's why I'm calling you, Gordon. We have to...we cannot let either of those things happen. Rachel will never cooperate if she thinks her, uh, _husband_ is going to be locked up. Or shot." Bruce glanced at Rachel, who was standing nearby with her arms crossed, nodding in agreement.

"But he's insane!"

"Well...he was sentenced to treatment in Arkham, until such time as he was no longer a threat to himself or others. He's managed to achieve that. He's been in treatment, here. He's recovered, apparently."

"You're not qualified to make that judgment!"

"Jim...trust me, please. The Joker--Jack--isn't a threat. We have another problem entirely."

"What do you mean?"

Bruce proceeded to explain his suspicions about Harvey's methods for discovering Rachel's whereabouts--murder--and reminded him what that would mean for the city of Gotham, if it were true, and if it became public knowledge. Bruce had no doubt that there would be a resurgence of mob rule and the streets would no longer be safe for honest citizens to walk--again.

Jim pondered the situation as he stared out his office window, nervously tapping a pen on his desk. His quick mind was already visualizing possible scenarios, none of them good.

"You're asking me to put my job, my reputation, and even my _freedom_ on the line."

"I know. I'm also asking you to save our city. And, I'm not asking lightly, Jim. I know what this means, to you and to me. But I don't know what else we can do...is there a way to pull this off?"

"Yes...it can be done. But, what if--"

"Please don't ask that question. There's not a good answer for it." Bruce had done nothing but ask that question since the whole unexpected situation had presented itself to him.

"You'll bring them here in your private plane?"

"Yes, we'll arrive tomorrow evening. You'll have clearance all set up for us..."

"I'll personally meet you at the air field."

"Right. I'll have Alfred there with the car, and we should be able to make it to my place without anyone discovering our identities. You'll follow in an unmarked vehicle."

"And once you all get settled..."

"You can escort Rachel to the hospital. I'll take care of..._him, _and Jacob."

"You think you can?"

"I think so. I'll get Rachel to slip him an extra dose of Thorazine or something...horse tranquilizers, maybe." Rachel, now standing close enough to follow both sides of the conversation, rolled her eyes.

"This is incredibly dangerous, Bruce, for a lot of reasons," worried Jim.

"Well, that's what makes it interesting, doesn't it?" Bruce's voice carried a grim smile over the airwaves.

"I'll put it in motion."

"Thank you. Good luck..."

"You too. You need it most of all."

"Yeah...you got that right."

Rachel looked admiringly at Bruce.

"It's that simple?" she asked, amazed.

"Simple, yes. Easy, no. Do you really think you can convince His Honor to go along with it?"

"Uh...yes. I'm not sure how, but yes. Fortunately, he likes me," she said with a grin, as she ran a hand over her round belly.

"Well, he sure doesn't like _me_," Bruce pointed out ruefully.

"He only knows one side of you. I'm sure he'll warm right up to you once he's being held captive in your penthouse," Rachel quipped sarcastically.

"I was serious about the tranquillizers..."

"I'll consider that if my idea doesn't work."

"What's your idea?"

"What usually works on Jack. Sex."

Bruce scrunched up his face in a pained look. "You're killing me, Rachel."

"Sorry..."she said, smiling mischievously.

Evening was setting in, and Rachel stuck a casserole into the oven and set the timer before heading upstairs to launch her mission. _No matter how crazy things get, people still have to eat, _she thought with a sigh. She left Bruce to take a brief nap on the veranda, with the sounds of tropical birds and the wind blowing through the palm trees to soothe him.

* * *

Jacob had awoken from his nap, and Jack had settled on his and Rachel's bed to play with his son. They were taking turns with a hand held video game, which consisted mostly of pushing buttons to make things squeak and squawk, which wasn't doing anything for Jack's headache, but it kept the boy occupied and Jack's mind off of the obsessive road he had started on downstairs. He looked up grimly when Rachel entered the room.

"Where's Mr. Wonderful?" he asked snarkily.

"Enjoying the beautiful weather on our patio, and don't be so grouchy. We have to talk. Jacob, can you please go play in your room until dinner?"

"No, Mommy, Daddy's playing with me...."

"I know. But Mommy has to talk with Daddy about grown-up stuff. If you want company, go downstairs and talk to Mr. Wayne."

"Aw, I don't like him!" frowned the little guy.

Jack cracked up, and Rachel tried to hide a smile.

"He's a nice man, one of my best friends. He'd like to get to know you better, Jake, and I bet he'd like to meet Bopper." Bopper was Jake's dog.

"No!"

"Come on, kiddo, I'll take you down there. Mom's right, we have to talk." Jack shot Rachel a snarl-y look, took Jake's hand and led him out of the room. As they approached the patio, Jack knelt down and whispered conspiratorially to his son.

"Listen, you go out there and keep an eye on that guy. See if he's up to no good, ok?"

"Ok, Daddy," the boy nodded solemnly.

"Atta boy." Jack winked and watched as his son carefully snuck up on the sleeping Batman, pulled his child-sized beach chair next to him and stood on it. He leaned in, and stared at Bruce, about six inches away from his nose. Bruce startled awake, and Jack couldn't know it, but he was treated to a miniature version of Jack peering at him watchfully. He heard Bruce splutter an expletive, and stayed long enough to stick his head out the door and say, "Hey, keep an eye the kid for me for a little while, will ya, Brucie? Oh, and watch your language around little ears, what kind of an asshole are you, anyway?"

Snickering, Jack returned upstairs to do battle with his wife.

* * *

Entering the bedroom, Jack noticed the soulful expression on Rachel's face. He pulled his lips into a disdainful sneer, and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Don't start."

"Jack..." Rachel went up to him and put her hands on his shoulders, letting them trail down over his chest, down to his belt, and below...

"Stop that. I know what you're up to, and it won't work..." he said firmly.

"It usually does..." she grinned up at him.

"Yeah, about what color the new couch should be, and whether or not to get Jake a BB gun, but not this."

"Come on, Jack, let's at least discuss it."

"No, I don't want to discuss it. I want Wayne to go away and for things to get back to normal around here." As if there were a "normal" in his life. Couldn't he have that, just for a little while? He'd worked so hard...pushing her hands off of him, he strode past her and threw himself on the bed.

Rachel lay down next to him and burrowed into his side.

"I know it's scary...."

"Nothing scary about it, it's not happening."

"Don't you want to go back to Gotham, just for a visit?" she asked curiously.

"No!"

"Sure you do. You love that town, just like I do..."

"I used to. It kind of turned on me...."

"You kind of turned on it...."

"It started it."

"Jack...I _have_ to go. Bruce has set it up so we can all go, together. He's risking a lot."

"Ok, just for grins, how does he propose to make this work?"

Rachel outlined Bruce's plan.

"Hold it...Jim Gordon's going to help? Jim _Gordon?_ Didn't I blow up his little facility once?"

"You blew up a lot of things, Jack, but yes."

"And you don't think he'll take the opportunity to lock me up? Weren't you a DA? Didn't you learn ANYTHING about human nature?"

"I know Jim, and I trust him. If he gives his word, it's gold."

"Aughhh, this is a nightmare. How 'bout I just blow a hole in Batman's head and bury him in the backyard?"

"Not a good plan, dear."

"I think it has merits...."

"No. We're going to pack up our stuff, get a good night's sleep, and head out in the morning. We'll stay with Bruce at his place, I'll visit Harvey, and you and Jake can enjoy hanging out in a luxury penthouse for a day or two. Then we'll get the hell out of there."

"Ooo, and maybe we could take in a show! That's beautiful, what could go wrong?" asked Jack with heavy sarcasm.

"Jack, I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. And I also know, if you're determined not to let me go, I can't do anything about that either. I'm asking you to please go along with this. It's important to me." Rachel took Jack's chin in hand and made him look into her imploring eyes. "Please."

"Don't you know we could lose everything, Rachel?" Jack whispered, feeling sick to his stomach.

"We won't. We have good friends...."

"You do. Not me."

"You're part of me. They know that."

Jack lay back, placing his arm across his eyes. It was too much to process, and he let his mind wander, giving up control of his brain to a kind of fuzzy blackness until he felt Rachel unbuckle his belt, pull down his zipper, and take out his soft penis. Her mouth was warm and wet, lips slipping over the head, down the shaft...."Stop...that doesn't help..." he murmured weakly, shaking his head in dismay. He didn't want to give in, didn't want to lose her....

She didn't stop. His erection came to life in her mouth, and soon he was bucking his hips against the powerful sheathing of her throat. When he got too close, Rachel drew back, running her tongue up and down his length, around the tip, finishing with a lick and a measured bite, almost sending him over the edge, and she then lay down beside him, eagerly reaching for him, for an embrace, for a hungry kiss. He pulled her to him and opened his mouth, working his jaw and lips against her.

Waves of need overtook him and he traced his tongue along her throat, down to her breasts, which his hands hastily freed from the stretchy fabric of her sundress, allowing his mouth full access. Suddenly he stopped and looked into her eyes.

"You bitch..." he croaked brokenly. "You never listen to me..."

"I love you, baby, don't you know that? Relax..." she whispered hoarsely in his ear as he slid a hand between her legs.

At that invitation, Rachel rolled away from him, stood up and slipped out of her dress and underwear before returning to straddle his narrow hips. She felt ungainly, but it was one of the more comfortable positions for sex in the late stages of pregnancy.

Jack took himself in hand and found her entrance, thrusting himself forcefully deep into her. "Easy, sweetie, not so hard," she gently cautioned. "You don't want to wake up the baby, do you?" she chuckled.

He answered with a choked moan as he put the brakes on his normal, aggressive response. She then slowly lowered herself the rest of the way onto his erection, and he couldn't help but grip her thighs tightly and arch his back as they began to fuck in earnest. Rachel looked down at him, rocking her hips rhythmically against his hardness, caressing his scars, her fingers finding their way to his mouth so he could delicately bite and lick them as she found her release. Soon, a low groan rolled from Jack's throat as he arched his back one more time and came inside her.

Afterward, she leaned down as well as she could with her tummy in the way and kissed him. "It's going to be all right, Jack," she said softly just before she gently dragged his lower lip between her teeth. He hmff'ed and answered "I've very rarely found that to be the case, not where _my_ life has been concerned..."

"It _will."_

"Sure, if you say so," he answered in defeat.

"I love you, Jack."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Come on, Jack, tell me you love me."

"I do, that's the problem. I wish I hated you. I wish I could just use you and throw you away. But I can't...hey, get off me, will ya?" he asked tiredly. His back was beginning to spasm.

"Uh...a little help?" Rachel asked cutely, not quite able to launch her pregnant self upward as agilely as usual. Jack, suddenly amused by her predicament, laughed, and placing strong hands at her expanded waist, helped her shift herself up and over his body so that she could lie down beside him.

"Thanks. You'll see Jack...we're going to be ok. All four of us."

"You counting Bat boy downstairs?"

"Five, then. I was counting the baby."

"Oh, yeah."

They held each other tightly until they heard the kitchen timer go off, signaling that it was time for dinner.

* * *

Back in Gotham, two doctors, carefully chosen for their discretion and expertise by Bruce Wayne himself, stood peering at Harvey Dent's medical chart.

"He's stabilized enough to bring him back to consciousness. Jim Gordon says he's going to have a very significant visitor coming to see him in the next day or so. It's getting to be time to make some decisions about a course of treatment, anyway. What do you think?"

"I agree. Let's bring him out of it."

It was early on a Thursday morning that Harvey Dent came to consciousness, only to discover that half his face was gone.


	21. And, We're Back

**A/N: Another short chapter, plot development, etc. Don't worry, next chapter should prove to be exciting...oh, no gratuitous smut this time, sorry! Thank you for all the reviews, they leave little bunny and kitten footprints on my sick writer's soul.**

* * *

Jack and Rachel went downstairs and found that Bruce and little Jacob had managed to come to a truce; Bruce had zero experience with entertaining small children, but a dog has a way of overcoming all sorts of differences, and when Jake called Bopper to come play ball with him, Bruce found himself enjoying the boy's attempts to "train" the long-eared, clumsy young dog to fetch.

"Here, Jake, let's see if I can help." Bruce showed Jacob a couple of dog-training techniques and they soon had the overgrown puppy cooperating a little better. Jacob gave Bruce a dazzling smile of appreciation, and it occurred to Bruce that the little imp might not be the future anti-Christ after all.

Jack silently watched the pair from the patio, and Rachel leaned her head on his shoulder.

"They seem to be getting along all right," she commented.

"Yeah, great. I'm sure he'll be 'Uncle Bruce' in no time," Jack predicted in a surly tone.

"Would that be so bad?" Rachel asked, amused.

"I suppose not. Maybe he'll offer to pay for Jake's college tuition."

"Oh, now. You know, I'll be so happy if you two can make it through this without either of you getting beaten up."

"Well, I hate to tell you this, angel, but the hope of a no-holds-barred fistfight between the two of us is all that's keeping _me_ going," Jack said sweetly.

"Great. I'll be sure to pack the home surgery kit."

"Always a good idea...." Jack pulled her into his arms and kissed her before taking her hand and walking her down to join the others. When Jacob saw him he shouted "Daddy!" and gleefully ran to throw himself in his father's open arms. Bruce saw the expression on his old enemy's face and wondered wistfully if he, himself, could ever hope to be loved like that. He thought it unlikely.

"You guys been staying entertained?" asked Jack.

"Yes, Daddy, Mr. Wayne's _nice!" _Jacob asserted.

"Oh, good. I thought maybe he was. Wasn't sure, though." Jack looked balefully at the dark haired man. They each slowly broke into tentative grins of detente.

"You've got a fine boy, there, Jack." He thought he saw a bit of pride flash across the ex-clown's brutally scarred face.

"Thanks...Jake, Mom wants you to help her with dinner, ok? I want to talk to Mr. Wayne."

"'K, Daddy," said the little boy before he scampered off to the kitchen.

Rachel started to say something, but settled for giving a stern warning look to each man in turn before following her son.

"So, what's the verdict?" asked Bruce.

"What choice do I have? I'll go along with it, Bats. I don't like it...not one _bit_...but it's what Rachel wants and I...look, if anything happens, to _any_ of us...."

"It won't. I give you my word."

"Right. Well, that seems to impress Rachel, so what do I know?"

"It'll be fine. How do you think _I _feel, with the prospect of having _you_ as a houseguest?" asked Bruce ruefully.

"Probably about as good as _I _feel having _you _here. Look, pal, I'm not the problem this time. Looks like poor ol' Harvey's gone off the deep end, he's the one you need to worry about." Jack actually felt fairly confident in the veracity of that statement.

"Maybe so. But, having been on the receiving end of your, um, more colorful personality flaws, you'll forgive me if I'm not completely at ease sharing my guest towels with you."

"Ah, Brucie-boy, I'm an old pussycat now. I hardly ever leave a blood trail anymore..."

"Ok, ok. As you say, it's what Rachel wants...." Bruce sighed. Rachel certainly knew how to make things _interesting_ for him.

"Food's on!" Rachel called. The two men glanced at each other, stood up and headed to the dinner table.

* * *

After dinner, Rachel began packing. She started with her son's little duds, then moved to her dresser and began filling a suitcase with what she feared would not be adequate weather-appropriate clothing for chilly Gotham. She only had a light jacket and one long-sleeved maternity blouse, and she had a feeling she was going to freeze.

Jack ambled into the room, and resolutely went to the closet to get his own suitcase.

"You want me to do that for you?" Rachel asked absently.

Jack rolled his eyes.

"What am I, six? I can pack my own suitcase, Mommy."

"I was just trying to make this easier on you."

"It's fine, I'm on chemically-induced auto-pilot now."

"Well, thank goodness for that." Rachel shook her head, and snapped her case shut. "You'll bring them all down?" she asked, indicating the packed bags.

"No, I thought I'd let the pregnant lady haul fifty pound cases down the stairs...."

"You are such a treasure," she rejoined. Rachel went down to finish tidying the kitchen, leaving Jack to finish his task.

When he was sure she was gone, Jack closed the bedroom door and fished a small key out of his pocket. He flipped open a hidden lock at the back of the closet, revealing a secret compartment. He removed a filled duffle bag and laid it on the bed. He opened it and began pulling out each item for inspection. A heavy purple overcoat, a violet suit, a green vest. A shirt, a tie, socks. Makeup. Hair color. A certain knife, an automatic pistol, several clips of ammo....

Everything looked to be in good order, and he carefully packed all the items, including the duffle bag, into the false bottom of his suitcase. He was glad they were flying in a private plane, and he hoped he would have no use for any of it...but, he liked to be prepared. It was important to have the right outfit for the right occasion, he thought with a cynical sneer as he began adding his regular clothes, meds, and toiletries to the bag.

_Fucking Bruce Wayne. Goddamn Harvey Dent...._

* * *

Rachel loved sleeping with Jack. Literally, she loved the _act _of sleeping with him, the actual state of being asleep, falling asleep, and waking up next to the man beside her, quite apart from the sex. How much she loved having sex with her husband could fill a book, or several; but this was a different kind of pleasure.

She loved the way he settled in with her perfectly fitting into his arms, the warmth of his bare flesh against hers, the sound of his breathing, the pounding of his heart next to her cheek...to Rachel, this was what love really was about. Feeling safe in the arms of the man who cared so much for her that he was willing to tear his whole life apart in order to rebuild it with her.

Tonight, however, she would have cheerfully strangled him with a telephone cord.

Tonight, Jack was having a hard time letting go, even after a second round of noisy bedtime sex that an embarrassed Rachel felt sure Bruce could hear through the thin walls of the guest bedroom. And, once Jack finally did drift off, he slept only fitfully, tossing and pulling at the bed clothes until Rachel found herself shivering on the edge of the bed, with only a thin sheet between her and the cool night air.

Every time Rachel managed to get to sleep, Jack seemed to suffer a particularly vivid, terrible dream, and he would awaken her with his muttering. More than once he called out her name, and the anguish in his voice chilled her. She knew the plan to return to Gotham must have brought many dreadful fears and memories to the surface, but she apparently had no idea just how severe they really were. Staring at the ceiling at three in the morning, Rachel sighed.

She would be glad when the whole ordeal was over.

* * *

Bruce had settled into the guest room with a lot on his mind. It was bizarre enough to find himself here at all, much less being given hospitality by the man he once personally handed over to the care of the Gotham Police Department, only to have him violently escape and require a beating so severe as to need surgery in order to subdue him again....

Bruce shook his head. How Rachel could have _fallen in love _with such a man...just then the dull rhythmic thumping of what Bruce could only assume was a headboard, soon followed by muffled, animalistic noises, both male and female, punctured the stillness of the jungle night, making sleep an even more remote possibility for the wealthy playboy/hero.

This was clearly going to be an ordeal. He would be very glad when it was all over.

* * *

Jim Gordon lay next to his sleeping wife and anxiously glanced at the clock--again. He needed to get to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be...awful. He mentally checked off the list of steps that needed to be taken, with no room for mistakes, in order to pull off Bruce Wayne's crazy plan. If this was anyone else in the world...well, it would be worth it if Harvey Dent could be saved.

And...Jim couldn't help but be curious. He couldn't imagine Rachel Dawes being with the Joker under any circumstances other than horrific captivity. To hear that they were a married couple with one child, and another on the way, was inconceivable. He did want to see that for himself. But that curious sidebar didn't alleviate the anxiety that churned in his stomach every time he tried to visualize a successful ending to the next day's ordeal. There was so much at stake, personally, professionally, and for the city he served.

He'd just be glad when it was over.

* * *

Bruce's private plane arrived at a remote airstrip far from the Gotham city limits with its curious passengers in various stages of exhaustion. Jacob was the only one who had gotten a decent night's sleep, but he had been so wound up with excitement from the upheaval in his routine and the plane ride that he had finally crashed hard somewhere over Texas and was reduced to tears at being awakened once they landed.

Alfred and Jim were waiting in uneasy silence, neither knowing what to expect, both prepared for anything. The little group began deplaning, Bruce in the lead, holding Rachel's elbow to help her maintain her balance. Then, Jack, carrying a miserable little boy, wearing an expression of suspicion and disgust as he surveyed the scene.

Alfred eagerly strode to meet Rachel and pulled her into a bear hug. She nestled against him for a minute, enjoying the scent of warm familiarity that clung to him. "Oh, Alfred, it's so good to see you again...."

"It is certainly good to see you again, Rachel. I was beginning to think I never would." The older man smiled down into her eyes and Rachel felt what was now becoming a very regular pang of guilt. She patted his arm apologetically and turned to Jim.

"Oh, Jim...."

"Rachel! You look..."

"Pregnant...I look very, very pregnant," Rachel grinned.

She hugged him tightly.

"You look...beautiful," Jim corrected. He looked up and found himself staring directly into the eyes of Rachel's husband...the man he knew only as the Joker. It was not a pleasant moment.

"_Commissioner...." _said Jack with a contemptuous sneer.

"Jim, this is Jack," Rachel said simply, while elbowing Jack in the ribs. Jim had always hoped that if he ever came face to face with the Joker again there would be an opportunity for a little police brutality prior to throwing him into a lock up that he could never get out of....

Jim had never personally seen the Joker out of makeup before; he'd only seen grainy pictures of him in prison garb, and a brief video of him being interviewed by the prison psychiatrist. Back then, even without the makeup, he had looked crazy. Now, he just looked like an angry and resentful young man. The scars were deeper than he had realized and his eyes were more intense than he remembered from his brief interactions with him, but on the whole, he seemed...kind of ok. Jim instinctively offered his hand.

Jack stared at the man for a long moment, then shifted his son's weight fully onto his left arm and reached out to shake the commissioner's hand.

"Hello, Jack. I understand that this was a very difficult trip for you to make. I want you to know I really appreciate it," said Jim sincerely.

Jack looked slightly bewildered for a moment, then mumbled something about doing it for Rachel, before he turned to face Alfred. Jack was really trying to get a handle on the whole empathy thing, and he supposed the older gentleman probably had a bit of a grudge against him, considering the circumstances of their last meeting. He gave Alfred a sheepish smile.

"Uh...Alfred?...about the knock-out gas and everything...sorry, I, uh..."

"Quite all right, sir. I've had worse. No lasting effects, I'm 'appy to report..."Alfred said in as jovial a voice as he could muster.

"I'd like to suggest that we get on the move, now," Bruce suggested. "The less time Jack spends out in the open, the less chance that he'll be recognized...." he reminded everyone.

Bruce had managed to strap Jacob's car seat into the back of the older model Cadillac with heavily tinted windows that Alfred had driven to pick up everyone. Jack slid in and anchored the child securely, Rachel joined him, and Bruce sat up front in the passenger seat. Jim followed in an unmarked police car, and the two vehicles headed to Bruce Wayne's penthouse.

* * *


	22. Harvey's Story

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone for so many wonderful reviews. Hoping not to disappoint....**_

_* * *_

The long, low Cadillac pulled into the underground parking garage of Bruce Wayne's penthouse. Jim Gordon circled the block a couple of times, just to be sure everything looked normal, before pulling in as well. By the time he got there, everyone had their bags collected and the little group was ready to take the elevator up to the living quarters. Jack was holding tight to his son.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," whispered Jacob loudly into his father's ear.

"Ok, son, we'll get something in just a little while," answered Jack, grateful for the distraction. He had the feeling he was walking into the world's classiest jailhouse, surrounded by his impeccably dressed keepers.

"Master Wayne, why don't I show everyone to their rooms, and then I'll get lunch on the table?" Alfred suggested.

"Sounds great, Alfred." Bruce motioned for Jack and Rachel to accompany him and Alfred in the elevator. When they arrived at the top floor, Bruce escorted them to the guest bedrooms that Alfred had prepared. The first was for Jack and Rachel.

"Oh, Bruce, this is wonderful." It was a large, spacious room, part of the unconverted section of the penthouse that still had the old-fashioned architectural appointments and style of 1940's Gotham. It had been closed up since Bruce moved in, and Alfred had had to scramble to get it freshened up in time for the guests' arrival.

Jack threw himself into an overstuffed leather easy chair and propped his long legs up on the ottoman.

"Yeah, this is the ritziest prison cell I've ever been in," he quipped in mock reverence.

_"_Alfred, why don't you show Jake where his room is," suggested Bruce, feeling something in his stomach suddenly tighten at Jack's remark. He knew things had been going too well....

"Certainly, sir. Come along, young lad, let's see what you think of your accommodations."

"'Commo-_dations_?" asked Jacob with great interest as Alfred led him out of the room.

"Look, Jack, I have Rachel's assurance that I don't have to worry about you compromising all the sacrifices that Jim and I have made by slipping off to get yourself arrested," Bruce asserted sharply.

"If you were to be picked up by one of my people, there's absolutely nothing I could do to prevent your incarceration," warned Jim.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, relax! Believe me, I'm not going anywhere...this city doesn't have anything I want, not anymore...." Jack trailed off as he stared out the window at the Gotham skyline. After a moment, he brightened and continued, "Anyway, I was promised unlimited cable, napping opportunities and decent pizza. I intend to take full advantage of _all _of those. In fact, after lunch, I'm going to park myself in this very chair and you can train a security camera on me that'll record some of the most boring footage you'll ever hope to see." Jack picked up the television remote control and clasped it to his chest like a precious jewel. He then settled deeper into the chair and regarded the two men with a smug expression, as if to say "_You guys have to work, ha-ha"..._

"Well, before you get too comfortable, we should have lunch," Rachel pointed out, running her fingers through Jack's thatch of tangled blond curls. Jim watched the gesture of affection with an expression of bewildered fascination. "Then, I guess, Bruce and I will head to the hospital...." she added uncertainly.

"I'll make some calls...but, yes, that sounds good," replied Bruce. He had spoken briefly with Harvey's doctors and found that he had been brought back to consciousness early in the morning, but had been so agitated, that they had had to sedate him again.

Just then, Jacob came tearing into the bedroom.

"Mommy, Daddy, come see my room!" Jack reluctantly launched himself into a standing position, and Rachel took his hand to follow their son to see how Alfred had fixed up the small spare bedroom across the hall. Bruce, Jim and Alfred all exchanged glances, and Jim shrugged his shoulders, echoing everyone's utter inability to reconcile the present reality with the vivid memories each held of the Joker. Alfred turned to follow the little family to get their reaction to his handiwork.

He had done some hasty shopping and put up curtains and a bedspread with an old-fashioned cowboys and Indians theme; there was a large stuffed dinosaur on the bed, and several new toys already strewn around the room. It had been transformed into a real little boy's room.

"Alfred, you didn't have to go to all this trouble!" Rachel exclaimed.

"It was no trouble, and actually, I quite enjoyed myself. It's been a long time since I could shop for a little fellow." He playfully tousled Jacob's hair and the little boy beamed up at him.

"Is Alfred your daddy, Mr. Wayne?" he curiously asked Bruce.

"Uh...no, Jake, but he's taken care of me all my life."

That explanation seemed to satisfy the boy, and when Alfred suggested that it was time to eat lunch, everyone headed down to the dining room in fairly good spirits.

* * *

_Mid-Morning that same day...._

Harvey Dent was slowly waking up from the effects of the tranquillizer he had been given earlier in the morning. His nurse, Martha Payton, was busy checking his fluids bag when he spoke up.

"What...day...is it?" he rasped. He could only really form words with one side of his mouth.

This was the first rational sentence Martha had heard the man utter since he came into her care.

"It's Thursday, Mr. Dent. How are you feeling?"

"How long...have I been..._here?"_

"Oh, it's been days, hon. You completely missed the playoffs. But don't you worry, you'll get caught up in no time. It's not like anything really exciting has happened in this town lately." The woman smiled encouragingly at the maimed DA. She was a very highly respected nurse with a lot of battlefield experience, chosen for her discretion and high government clearance. Martha had seen injuries worse than Harvey Dent's, but not in a very long time.

"Anyway, I hear you're going to have a visitor today. That'll be nice, now that you're awake and can talk."

"Visitor...?"

"Yes, a young lady--someone very special, I understand."

_"...who?" _Harvey asked weakly.

"Oh, dear. I can't remember her name, but they said she used to be the Assistant DA, so I guess you worked together some time ago...I wish I could remember her name..."

_"Rachel?!"_ he cried, disbelieving.

"Rachel, yes, that sounds right."

Harvey began fairly thrashing against the restraints on his hands and legs, trying futilely to escape from the hospital bed, and Martha gently pressed against his shoulders until he reluctantly settled back against his pillow.

"Well, she _must_ have been very special for you to have such a reaction! Now, listen, hon, you need to just lay back and calm down, you're going to make yourself sick..."

"Are you..._sure?" _he gasped. "Are...you _sure_...Rachel?"

"Let me get the doctor for you, hon. Goodness, if I'd known you were going to get so excited on me, I never would of said anything. Now, just hold tight, let me get Doctor Rogers."

Martha hastily headed down the hall in search of Harvey's primary care physician.

Goodness, the man had just about gone off the deep end. She was only trying to be nice, to make pleasant conversation, give the poor thing something to look forward to. She hoped she hadn't said the wrong thing...land's sakes, if they needed a psych nurse, they should _hire_ a psych nurse....

* * *

After lunch, Bruce got the go-ahead from Dr. Rogers to bring Rachel to the hospital. Back upstairs, Jack sat in his chosen chair of leisure and sourly watched her put on her shoes and gather her handbag and jacket together.

"So, you and Harvey, together again, huh?" he sneered.

"Yep."

"Tell Brucie to take the video camera, I'd love to see his face--what's left of it--when he sees you're knocked up with another one of my brats..." he said, cackling evilly.

"You're not helping, Jack."

"Oh, sorry. I'm supposed to be, what, supportive or something...?"

"Just be nice. I know you can do that, I've seen it happen. Rarely, I'll admit...." Rachel bent down to kiss him goodbye, and he pulled her onto his lap, being careful not to jerk her down too hard.

"Listen, babe," he said, holding her close to him. "You're trying to do something noble here, and I know I can't stop ya, but...don't let this fuck you up in the head, ok?"

"What do you mean?" asked Rachel, curiously.

"He did this to himself, and you're going to want to take the blame...but it's not your fault, understand? _You_ didn't pull that trigger...." Jack stared into her eyes meaningfully.

"Ok, Jack. I'll...I'll keep that in mind."

"Keep _me _in mind, too," he admonished. "I actually got around to marrying you, unlike Mr. Wishy-Washy, there. I mean, he _had _his chance...."

"But...when the time came, I didn't _want_ to marry _him_...." she reminded gently as she snuggled against him.

"So? Listen, not that it was my idea in our case, but if _I _decided to marry you and you didn't want to, I'd figure out a way to change your mind. I wouldn't just sit around, bein' a freakin' _gentleman_, for weeks and months..." Jack asserted scornfully.

Rachel smiled at her handsome husband and ran her fingertips down the side of his scarred face.

"And you would, too. You'd pester me to death...."

"I'd be charming."

"Annoying...."

"Dashing..."

"Destructive..."

"I'd sweep you off your feet..."

"Wear down my defenses...."

"Yeah...something like that..." he agreed.

"Guess what? That's exactly what you did...." she whispered in his ear.

"Mmm. Worked, didn't it?" he asked cheerfully.

"Like a charm. A psychopathic little charm...." Smiling, Rachel wriggled off Jack's lap and went back to readying herself for her visit to Harvey's bedside. Jack's smile faded as he watched her head to the door.

"Rachel..." he said just as she was about to step out.

"What, baby?"

"Just come back. Ok?" He said it with a scowl, but she picked up a bit of worry in his voice.

"I _will. _Hey, take your nap, order your pizza! Live it up, will you? We'll be out of here before you know it." Rachel returned to give him one more kiss, which he begrudgingly returned, and then she headed to the elevator to meet Bruce downstairs. Her departure had gone better than she could have expected, she thought, pleased. Jack had really come a long way, a _very_ long way.

Back in the bedroom, Jack raised his lip in a sneer of self-disgust. What a fucking _girl _he'd become. In the old days, he'd of just zipped down to Harvey's hospital room, taken a knife, and finished the job for him, maybe pull off the other half of his face in the process. Problem solved. But no, here he was, sitting back like a pussy, letting his pregnant wife waltz down to reunite with her ex-fiance. Shit. Whatever was going to happen as a result of this, he deserved it. No matter how fucking dreadful it might be, he had no one to blame but himself. It would be his own fault. His own, miserable, fault.

* * *

Rachel sat in the back seat of one of Bruce's more modest vehicles, lost in thought as he drove to the hospital. Jack's words--"_don't let this fuck you up...." _kept running through her mind. He knew her so well, well enough to predict her reaction to visiting Harvey, yet he had absolutely no sympathy for her point of view.

Having attempted more than once to use guilt as a technique for dealing with Jack--and having failed miserably--Rachel knew he had little if any understanding of how devastating feelings of guilt could be. She supposed it was part of his psychopathic personality, but he really did live an amazingly guilt-free life, no matter how well-medicated he might be. He reduced most of his actions down to either positive or negative results--from his point of view--so, even the _concept_ of "guilt" was somewhat lost on him.

Rachel, on the other hand, had always been hyper-sensitive to the idea of personal responsibility, and the realization that her behavior toward poor Harvey had led him to--possibly--commit crimes or to harm himself, wounded her in her heart. She felt ashamed.

She rested her head on the back of her seat, grateful that the dark-tinted windows would prevent anyone from identifying her on the way to the hospital. Even so, she had wrapped a scarf around her hair and worn sunglasses. Not that she really believed her face was so recognizable to the general public anymore, if it had ever been, but she knew quite a few people from this part of town and she wasn't taking any chances.

"Bruce...what did the doctor say, exactly?"

"He just said Harvey was awake, and to come on down."

"Hmm. How horrible...to wake up and...look completely different," Rachel mused. She had begun to say "to find yourself mutilated", but thought better of it. She didn't want to remind Bruce of the terrible image he must carry in his mind.

"He's been pretty heavily bandaged. I don't know how he looks, uh, as of now..." Bruce started to say "after they cleaned him up" but thought better of it. He didn't want to put the terrible image of Harvey's torn-apart face into Rachel's mind.

They pulled into a service dock at the back of the hospital, and Bruce led Rachel to an elevator used only by the staff. They went to the fifth floor of Gotham General Hospital.

They were met at the elevator by Dr. Rogers.

"Doctor, here she is at last. This is Rachel Dawes. Rachel, this is Dr. Louis Rogers, he's been taking care of Harvey."

"It's good to meet you, Ms. Dawes. Listen, let's go to the consultation room for a moment, ok? I'd like to...prepare you for this visit."

They followed the doctor to a private office.

"Ms. Dawes...the patient has suffered tremendous trauma, both physically and mentally. One of my nurses mentioned that you were coming to see him, and he became highly agitated. He's had a mild sedative, and of course he's in restraints, but...I can't predict what sort of reaction he'll have when he sees you."

Rachel glanced apprehensively at Bruce.

"Are you saying he might be violent?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm saying, he might have feelings of rage that he will misdirect at you. I don't pretend to fully understand the nature of your...relationship with him, but gather it's been difficult for him. And...well, excuse my frankness, but I can see you're pregnant. I can't imagine that will come as a pleasant surprise to him. I would just suggest that you try to remember how fragile his mental state is right now, and not take anything hurtful that he might say too personally."

"Doctor, should I go in first and have a word with him?" Bruce offered.

"Well, the two of you know him better than I. That actually sounds like a good idea. Mr. Dent needs to remain as calm as possible."

Rachel now gave Bruce a grateful look.

"Would you, Bruce? I do know Harvey, and I think he would appreciate being...prepared...for seeing me."

"Sure, I'll be glad to."

Bruce was inwardly relieved to have the opportunity to speak to Harvey alone, to gauge his reaction to seeing Rachel again. He headed to Harvey's hospital room, and rapped on the door before coming in.

"Harvey? How ya doin', buddy?" asked Bruce in a soft voice, with false hospital cheer.

The man in the bed slowly turned his head and peered at Bruce with his one good eye.

"Bruce..." he whispered.

"Yes, it's me...it's good to see you awake." Bruce tried hard not to stare at the thick layer of bandages that covered one side of his friend's face. He pulled up a chair and sat in Harvey's line of sight.

"...they said..._Rachel_...." Harvey's voice was choked and he had a hard time forming the words. Plus he was still groggy.

"Yes, exactly...very good news, Rachel's all right. She's here, she's waiting to see you just outside."

"Tell her...tell her to come...in here." A single tear slipped down Harvey's cheek.

"I will; I just wanted to...tell you some things first. Harvey--Rachel's going to have another baby." Bruce thought he probably should have built up to that bit of information more slowly but it just came right out.

"Baby..._whose_ baby..." Harvey looked directly into Bruce's eyes, bewildered.

"Uh..." Crap. There was no way to say it gently. "Rachel got married, Harvey. She married...the Joker." He waited to see the reaction. Harvey just blinked a few times and turned his head so that he was staring at the ceiling.

"Dream...this is...a _dream_..." he finally said.

"No, Harvey. It's real. Rachel's going to come in here in a minute, and she's real. And she's pregnant. And the baby is the Joker's. I'm...I'm really sorry, I know this is hard for you. But at least you have your answer. Rachel's alive, she's safe. She's safe, Harvey, just remember that...."

The ever-present fog that had filled Harvey's mind was gradually wearing off and Bruce's words were hitting some logical recess of his mind, causing it to flinch. He began to jerk violently at the bindings on his wrists.

"No..._no..._he...that _monster_...brainwashed her..."

"Harvey, Harvey, please...I can't bring Rachel in here until you're calm...."

"_Kill _him...I'll _kill_ him...for what he's done...done to her...."

"I know how you feel, I know. But you need to calm down. Please, Harvey..."

The DA turned his head back to look at Bruce and he forced himself to control the fury coursing through his static-filled nervous system.

"Ok...ok...calm...I'm calm now..." Harvey's voice was getting stronger, and Bruce noticed he seemed more focused.

"All right. I'll go get her. Remember, Harvey, you need to stay calm." He got a slight nod of agreement, and turned to get Rachel.

"Rachel, come on in." Bruce motioned her to him.

She walked past him, braced for what she would see. Harvey lay in the bed, staring, waiting...he didn't say anything as she approached the bed.

"Harvey?...hey, it's me, Rachel...hey, Bruce tracked me down, Harvey. He told me what happened to you...I had to come to see you. I'm so sorry Harvey, I'm just so sorry..." Rachel felt the tears slipping down her cheeks. He looked so helpless....

Harvey stared hard at her face, his eye traveling down to her belly and back up again. In some ways, he was still not sure that what was happening was _really _happening. He wasn't sure that this wasn't three years ago when they were expecting Jake to be born...but he knew he wasn't in a hospital bed three years ago...somehow, the fog lifted. Rachel _was _here. A sense of radiant joy was instantly crushed by a devastating finality. She _was_ pregnant, and it _was_ the Joker's child. He just didn't understand....

"You...went...with _him..." _Harvey's voice cracked. Rachel knew very well who he meant.

"Yes, yes I did. I made that choice. I...I love someone else, Harvey, I'm so ashamed that I didn't tell you. It's so complicated...I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to...."

Rachel raised her head and looked away. At that moment, she hated herself.

Harvey tried futilely to sit up. Rachel quickly pressed the button on the bed that raised the head end.

"Rachel..." for the first time, Harvey's voice sounded normal. He still only had half a mouth to frame the words, but he was able to speak more forcefully.

"Are you still with that madman?" he asked.

"Yes...but, he's not like that anymore. He's been in treatment all these years and he's doing great. I know you don't want to hear this, but he's doing really well, he's a wonderful husband and father, and..."

Harvey's clenched fists slammed as well as he was able against the mattress.

"He's a murderer! A fiend! He's brainwashed you, he's manipulated you into believing he's normal, but _he's not_. You're a fool, Rachel, your 'husband' is a murdering psychopath, and always will be." Exhausted, Harvey limply dropped his head back onto the bed.

Rachel tried hard not to let the painful words touch her. The doctor had wisely warned her about Harvey's rage, and he had been so right...she could see there was no point in arguing with the man.

"Harvey, I am so sorry. Please believe that. I just...I can't believe you tried to..."

Harvey turned his head back to look at her.

"_What? _You can't believe..._what?"_

"That you...tried to commit suicide..." she said through her tears.

"I _didn't." _He spat the words.

Rachel stared at him. Bruce had been right...

"Oh, my God, then what happened?"

"One of the Joker's men...I was getting too close...I was close to finding his whereabouts...he sent him...to kill me...he's wanted this all along....finally tried something, but it didn't work...." Suddenly, Harvey's still-functional side of his face smiled. The effect was grotesque.

Rachel felt a chill race through her stomach.

"What do you mean?" she asked, horrified.

"Rachel...you've been fooled for so long...he's so damn clever...such a fucking clever bastard...he's been running the whole mob ever since Maroni was iced...you never figured it out, did you? but I did...he tried to have me killed because of it...but he didn't succeed...not _yet...." _Harvey's one eye burned into her.

A strange calm came over Rachel. "Harvey, let me get Bruce. I want him to hear what you have to say, too." Harvey gave a nod of consent, and the attorney in her strode to the door and beckoned to Bruce.

"What is it? Everything ok?" asked Bruce anxiously.

"No, it's not. I need you in here. Now." Rachel said firmly.

They returned to Harvey's bedside.

"All right, Harvey. Tell Bruce. Tell Bruce everything."

Harvey gazed at the two of them. Whatever he had once felt for Rachel had somehow dried up and blown away at the sight of her. He loved someone who didn't exist anymore. The woman bearing her name might be standing before him, but his Rachel was dead, as surely as if she were six feet underground. And, the Joker had killed her.

"When you left...I couldn't believe it. Bruce told me...he told me it was your choice. I thought he was wrong, that he misunderstood. I was certain you were being held against your will. The thought of you...in his hands, being mistreated...or dead. I just thought you were dead. I could never conceive of you being alive and..._safe_...with that murdering psychopath. That rabid dog."

"But...Bruce was so sure. He was so certain you were alive. I wanted you back, so badly. So very badly. Even if you were dead, I wanted you back, to bury you in the family cemetery. And Jake...he was my son, Rachel. I know you didn't believe that, but once he was born...he became mine, just as if he were from my seed. I had so many plans for him...for us. We would have been so happy...."

"I tried everything. Bruce, too. We didn't give up. We...interviewed people, we went over evidence, pulled out prison interview transcripts, watched video tapes of the disgusting animal again and again, trying to come up with any little clue that might tip us off as to where he would hold you, or someone who would know...everything just turned up dead ends. I finally realized that we were being stupid. We were playing by the rules, Bruce and I. And the Joker has no rules."

"So, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I began tracking down the mob guys the Joker had worked with. It wasn't easy, they were so intimidated that normal methods didn't work. Even when Bruce upped the reward, it didn't work...they wouldn't talk. So, I came down to their level. It took a long time. But, finally, I found someone who would talk...I figured it out. If you're going up against a terrorist, you have to become a better terrorist. So...I did."

"I found out quite a few things, Rachel. Not where you were, though. I was close...Bruce finally pulled that off, somehow. Not me. But I learned a lot. I learned that Maroni's death wasn't just a rival gang operation trying to make the big time. The Joker...he called a hit on Maroni. Then, he took over. Finally. He'd been planning it for years. He has people everywhere--the mob, the cops, rival gangs, even the Transit Authority...no one knows who's really working for whom. So, it took me a while...to get the answers. And, when I got too close..." Harvey made a gesture, indicating his destroyed face.

Rachel and Bruce glanced at each other.

"But, Jack--the Joker--has been in Mexico for the last two years. How could he..." began Bruce.

"He's got a communications room," Rachel said dully. "He spends a lot of time in there. He...keeps up. He always knows what's going on in Gotham." Rachel felt nothing. She was as numb as a paralysis victim.

Harvey gave Bruce a triumphant look.

"Your prints were the only ones on the shotgun, Harvey." Bruce pointed out.

"It was _my _gun. I bought it for my protection. Funny, huh? The guy wore gloves...."

Rachel felt the baby kick. Then she slumped over and fell to the floor.

* * *


	23. What Game Today?

Bruce gathered Rachel into his arms, and gently patted her face, calling her name in an attempt to revive her. He was aware of Harvey's one eye, impassively watching him. Rachel started awake and looked wildly around her, weakly struggling to get up.

"Calm down, honey, you just passed out." Bruce said softly.

"Oh, my God! Bruce--Harvey..."

"Can you stand up? Is the baby ok?" asked Bruce worriedly.

"Y-yes, yes, I think so." They awkwardly worked together to get Rachel to a standing position. Rachel placed both her hands on her belly and was relieved to feel the baby moving busily.

Rachel looked at Harvey.

"You have to be wrong, Harvey. Jack...isn't like that anymore. He wouldn't have lied to me all this time..."

"I only know what I was told. And now, I wish you'd both go away...I don't have anything more to say to either of you." With that, Harvey turned his face to the wall, refusing to look back at his visitors.

Bruce helped Rachel out of the room and found a waiting area where they could sit and catch their breaths. Bruce could see Rachel was beyond upset. He was, as well. He put his face in his hands and gave his temples a hard rub, trying to focus so he could think straight.

"What are we going to do?" Rachel asked in a small voice.

"I don't know, I don't know...if what Harvey says is true...."

"It can't be. There's no way, I know it."

"Rachel...you said yourself, he keeps up with what's going on in Gotham...."

"That doesn't mean he's controlling criminal activities." The uncomfortable truth was that Rachel could easily imagine _the Joker _doing that very thing, playing his role so smoothly that she would never suspect _anything_...but not Jack. Not her Jack.

"No, but if he's not--if Harvey was fed false information--that means someone in this city is still out to get the Joker. And, while Harvey himself is in no condition to go running around, he did threaten to kill Jack. He might have connections...I think you and Jack are both in danger."

"And, of course, if Harvey's right..." Bruce continued.

"Jack needs to be stopped." Rachel said flatly.

"Yes."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take you back to my place, find Jack and lock him up. Then, Batman is going to go on a little fact-finding mission."

"You're going to lock Jack up? Where?" Rachel asked, slightly amused.

"I have a place that'll hold him. Since he's not expecting this, I mean."

"Ok. I just...I can't believe this is happening. I love him so much...."

"We'll figure it out, sweetie. You know, I never thought I'd be saying this, but...I'm rooting for Jack."

Rachel smiled sadly, and hugged her closest friend.

"You be careful. I can't chance losing _all _the men in my life on one day."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let that happen."

* * *

Bruce returned Rachel to the penthouse, taking her down to the kitchen where Alfred and Jacob were knee-deep in cookie-making. He left Rachel to enjoy the cheery activity while he went to find her husband.

Jack had spent his time happily flipping stations to his heart's content, something he rarely got to do with Rachel around demanding "Just pick something to watch, already!" He was quite irritated to find the porn stations were blocked; _"Who the hell is he blocking them from, himself?"_ Jack wondered in disgust. _"No wonder the guy's such a tight-ass."_

He had eventually slipped into nap mode, the remote dropping from his fingers, and he was now contentedly curled up in the overstuffed lounge chair, breathing evenly, in a deep sleep. He was dreaming of a little girl, _his_ little girl, a precious, laughing child with Rachel's huge blue eyes and bow-shaped mouth, but with blonde curls like his...in his dream, it was a sunny day, they were playing outside and he was calling her and she was running to him. He picked her up and swung her around in his arms and they were both laughing fit to burst....

He never heard the door gently swing open, or the footsteps that lightly sprinted across the thick pile carpeting, never had the slightest hint that his slumber was about to be brutally torn from him by two powerful hands roughly grabbing his upper arms, yanking him into an upright position. He had only the briefest glance of a grim-faced Bruce Wayne before he was slammed face-down onto the floor, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He then felt Bruce's dead weight on him as he straddled Jack's hips and dragged first one arm, then the other, behind his back, followed by the chill of cold metal too snuggly encircling each wrist in its turn, and he then heard the sharp click of handcuffs being snapped shut with a depressing finality.

"So, Brucie, what game are we playing today?" Jack gasped when he caught his breath. "Could we try something besides cops and robbers for a change? Because, I've played that one enough to last me a lifetime..."

Bruce didn't respond, focused instead on dragging the struggling, slender man into an upright position from behind. He began propelling him forward through the door, down the hall to a secret elevator that led to the Bat Cave.

As the door slid shut, Bruce shoved Jack, hard, up against the wall, keeping a brutal hold on his arms, using his hip to pin the slighter man into the corner of the car, thus preventing him from lashing out with a backward kick or otherwise managing to navigate out of Bruce's grasp.

Jack cast a beleaguered stare upward to the ceiling, the only view afforded him other than that of the wall itself.

"Aw, you never have gotten over not getting to fuck me on that rooftop, have you?" he asked sympathetically. "Well, I'm sorry to say it, but I'm definitely not in the mood_ now_. Although, if you keep rubbing your thigh up against my ass like that, I probably could be persuaded...."

"Shut the fuck up, you...Jesus, I don't even know what in hell you are," Bruce said in exasperation.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Jack asked, finally serious. He attempted to twist his head around enough to look Bruce in the face, but couldn't quite manage it.

"In a minute." They arrived at the cave entrance and Bruce strong-armed Jack into a small but well-constructed cage at one end of the enclosure.

"Aw, this is cute. Makes me homesick for Jim Gordon's lush accommodations." Jack lost his footing as Bruce shoved him down onto a cot and then turned to leave. "Hey, where you going, Batman, old buddy? You gonna leave me down here to rot and not even tell me why?"

Bruce quickly stepped out, locked the door, and then commanded "Come over here." Jack amiably walked up to the cell bars, and Bruce indicated he should turn around. Bruce proceeded to unlock the cuffs. Jack turned back to him, ruefully rubbing his wrists and frowned thoughtfully.

"Ok, Bruce, obviously I've abused your hospitality in some way. What'd I do, use up all the hot water? Should I have tipped Alfred? Wasn't sure about that. I swear I didn't jerk off in your leather chair, although I _did_ think about it...."

"Harvey says you tried to have him killed."

Jack looked up from examining his wrist, and raised an eyebrow.

"What? _Me? _I haven't..._huh? _That's _crazy_, I didn't do any such thing! Why did he say that?" Jack's dark brown eyes were searching Bruce's face, and Bruce thought he detected genuine bewilderment in them.

"He says he didn't try to kill himself, that it was one of your men. He also says that you put a hit on Sal Maroni, so that you could take over his operation, and that you've been running it ever since Sal died."

Jack stared at Bruce open-mouthed. He then looked around him as though searching for someone who spoke English before slowly shaking his head in dismay.

"You believe him?" he suddenly asked, looking at Bruce.

"I don't believe him or not believe him. I'll have to find out the truth for myself. But I wanted to hear what you had to say."

"Well, Dent is _lying_. Or...he believes a lie. I'm not doing _any_ of that stuff! Hell, when would I have _time?_ I'm drugged out half the time, or I'm in therapy, or I'm with Rachel and Jake, or at work...I swear to you, Bruce, I don't have any connections to that stuff anymore. The only two guys left from my old gang are Ernie and Charlie, Ernie's catatonic in Arkham, and Charlie apparently was the one to relieve you of your reward money and rat out my location in Mexico. He sure wouldn't have done that if I had any influence left in Gotham."

Bruce considered his response and nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, that sounds plausible. Let's hope I can get some sort of confirmation out on the street." Bruce turned to go.

"Wait! What the hell do you think you're going to find out? You think those mob fools are going to talk to _you_--or _Batman? _No. No way. Listen, let me out of here and I'll go with you. You wouldn't even know where to start, but with my help..."

"Forget it."

"Aw, come on, Bruce, we made a pretty good team when we went after Rachel, didn't we?"

"Ha. No thanks. Batman works alone."

Jack made a rude, dismissive sound.

"Yeah, well, good luck with that."

"Anyway, as I recall, that mission ended up with me and Alfred unconscious on my kitchen floor..." Bruce reminded him.

"That was, uh, necessary under the circumstances..."

Bruce shook his head and strode to the middle of the enclosure to gather his armor and gear together when he heard Jack call him again.

_"Wait!!" _Jack sounded almost panicked.

"What?"

"Where are Rachel and Jake?"

"They're with Alfred, making cookies." It wan an incongruous answer in light of what both men were facing.

"Oh. Ok." Bruce turned away again, then...

"But, wait a minute!"

"_What now?"_

"So, Dent said all that stuff to Rachel, too?" Jack asked apprehensively.

"Yes, she was there." Bruce reluctantly returned to the cage. If the guy was telling the truth, he would be suffering a lot of anxiety about now. Once Bruce saw Jack's face, he instantly found himself feeling sorry for him, and he tried to will the emotion away. He needed to remain coldly objective.

"Did she...did _she_ believe him?" Jack asked dejectedly, believing he already knew the answer.

"Rachel's an attorney, Jack. She knows not to trust any information until she gets supporting evidence. But, like me, she knows it's not impossible that it_ could_ be true." He took no pleasure in making the statement.

Jack just nodded, one hand hanging listlessly from the cross bars where he was supporting himself as he leaned against the cage.

"Do you think she'd come down here and talk to me?" he asked, without bitterness.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea, in case you _are_ guilty."

"_Why_--you don't really think I'd try to hurt her, do you?" Jack asked, taken aback. He didn't care what Bruce Wayne thought of him, but the fact that Bruce had been treating him more like a normal person and less like a punk criminal since they arrived in Gotham had made him feel like all his hard work in therapy was finally paying off. It made him rather sad to think the man was so quick to assume he would turn violent toward his own family with only the slightest provocation.

"I-I don't know. She doesn't need any more stress, though. Having to see you like this might be too much."

"Is the baby ok?" Jack asked worriedly.

"Yes, but I don't think we should take any chances, do you?"

"No...ok. Well, tell her...tell her none of that stuff is true. Tell her that's what I have to say about it, anyway. I guess, in the end, she'll believe whatever you tell her you find out, though, huh?" Bruce thought he heard a catch in Jack's voice.

"Just hang in there, Jack. If you're telling the truth, I'll find out and everything will be fine."

"Sure...people always say that to me, you know? And it never is."

Bruce looked at his old foe. The pain in his eyes was evident, and Bruce thought of Rachel. Of Harvey. _Why did this man have to come into our lives? _thought Bruce. Maybe he thinks the same about us. Still, he had seen the powerful love between Jack and Rachel, and knew it was for real. And now another child was coming...Bruce would do everything in his power to get the answers to the terrible questions Harvey Dent had posed. If Jack was innocent, he would find out.

"Jack...if it helps any, I hope it works out for you. Rachel loves you and...well, I don't want to see her heart broken."

Jack just stared impassively at the man about to transform into Batman. He watched him until he got into his vehicle and drove away.

If Bruce failed to find the right contact to talk to, Rachel would have no choice but to believe Harvey's story. She'd leave him and take Jacob away from him forever. Gordon would take the opportunity to pin all sorts of crimes on him; he would be locked up again, whether in Arkham or prison, it really didn't matter. And, he would never be able to be a father to his unborn child.

Jack pondered everything that was at stake as he slipped off his right sneaker and pulled up the lining to remove a simple hairpin and a small, flexible piece of metal, He stood at the door of his cell and easily picked the lock in under thirty seconds. "Hm, I'm a bit rusty," he thought disapprovingly as the door swung open.

Jack sauntered to the elevator that would take him back to the floor where his bedroom was. He went in and found his case; with a methodical intensity, he laid out his hidden possessions, changing clothes unhurriedly, leaving off his heavy overcoat for now. He loaded his pockets as he was accustomed to doing, knives, loaded gun, extra ammo, small explosive devices....

He then took the greasepaint to the dressing area. He began applying the white foundation, then the red to cover his lips and scars. He finished with the dark rings of black around his eyes and combed some temporary hair color through his golden curls, turning them a lank, sickly green. He smiled at the effect, and turned to face Rachel, in tears, pointing a gun at him.

* * *

.


	24. Pick Your Shot

**A/N: Ooo, this chapter is heavy on the dialogue, trying to set the stage for more action in the next one. Since it's been so long, let me remind you where we left off--Jack was becoming the Joker again, and Rachel walks in with a gun. Hope you like it....**

* * *

"Rachel, _baby!! _Aw, look at you, that cookie making session must have been a _riot! _And how about that little pea shooter! I _love_ a woman with a weapon...." The Joker's lips turned up in a lop-sided grin at the sight of his wife with flour on her nose, more on her dress, along with something wet--Jake's spilled milk--all over her swollen tummy, brandishing a small .22 pistol. His eyes burned into her, just as she remembered....

"J-Jack! What are you doing in those _clothes?_" Rachel asked in shock, her voice shaky as a tear slid down her cheek.

"Oh, I was just dressing up to go out on the town...yeah, big night ahead of me! Normally, I'd ask my best girl to go with me, but you seem to be otherwise engaged...where'd you get that pop gun, anyway?"

"You can't leave! How'd you get out? You need to stay here, you need to let Bruce take care of this..."

"Oh, Batman? Sure, babe, he's right on it." Jack's voice dropped to an ominous growl. "Listen, now that Harvey's gotten half his face blown off, I guess Bruce'll be next in line after I'm out of the picture, huh? Hey, I never did ask, did you ever fuck 'im, back in the day? Suck his dick? I always wondered, and he wouldn't tell...."

All the time, the Joker was steadily advancing on Rachel, and now he was towering over her in what felt to her like a decidedly menacing posture, the gun almost touching his chest. His grimly sardonic expression and Joker-like voice made her feel disoriented and confused.

"Please...don't come any closer..."

"Aw, come on, honey, let me see this silly thing..." Jack easily removed the gun from Rachel's hand, and began examining it with mock interest as she quietly sobbed.

"Hey, this is cute...It's ok for play time, but, look, if my wife's going to be armed, she's going to have some decent firepower...." The Joker tossed it aside, took the automatic pistol out of his pocket, pushed it into her hands, and pressed them tightly together.

"Now, this is heavy, so always use two hands. It's got quite a kick to it, too, so be ready for that. If you need to hit something--ha, some_one_--from far away, just aim for the belly, it won't make much difference _where _you hit 'em, it'll leave a hole big enough to throw a cat through."

"On the other hand...." the Joker took a firm hold of Rachel's hands and brought them up to his throat, pressing the muzzle of the gun deep into his flesh, closing his eyes for a moment as if in ecstasy. "...ahh, that feels _nice_...on the other hand, if you're at close range like this, you can afford to pick your shot." Rachel felt a wave of nausea come over her and tried to pull away, but she was afraid the gun would accidentally go off if she struggled too hard.

"Throat? Head? Chest? Your choice, babe, it's all the same to me, is it all the same to you? I'm a pretty good lookin' guy, you _might_ want to go for the heart," he said, lowering the heavy weapon to his chest. "That way they'll let ya leave the coffin open at the viewing..." he offered helpfully.

"_Stop it!! _Stop it right now, I'm _not_ going to shoot you!" Rachel cried, her anger suddenly flaring.

"But, angel, I _want _you to!" he said with a bitter laugh. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather see in my last moments...come on, sweetie, do it. Do it for your old man. You're not going to have him around anyway, and I'd much rather be dead by _your_ hand than rotting in Arkham..._pretty_ please?" he asked in a snide, nasty voice.

"_No! _I don't want you to die, and I don't want you to go away...please Jack, put away the gun, take off that makeup, and let's talk..." Rachel pleaded desperately.

"Damn it, why must I do everything _myself?_" he asked in mock indignation, as he ripped the gun from her hands and began fooling with the safety mechanism. Once satisfied that it was ready for action, he gestured with it in the air as he continued in a severe tone, no longer teasing.

"I've got nothing to say to you. It's all over. You've already made up your mind that I'm guilty, you didn't even give me a chance to respond to Dent's bullshit before you tore up here with a loaded weapon, pitiful though it may be, so please, tell me, what the _hell _is there to talk about?"

"_Jack_...damn it, I didn't even know you were up here! I thought you were down in the cage...I just came up here to clean up and change clothes, then I was going to go find you, to ask you if you had any idea why Harvey would say such things...I came in the room, heard a noise--Jesus, you scared me half to death...."

"Oh, yeah? Then, why'd you have the gun?"

"Alfred gave it to me! We just heard from Bruce...Harvey ran away from the hospital. He'd been raving about...what you'd done to me, saying I was already dead and he needed to put me out of my misery. Oh, God...he's threatened us both...." A sob wracked her and tears began spilling down her cheeks again.

The Joker narrowed his eyes at her, and licked his lips thoughtfully.

"Dent's on the loose, huh? Well, that just makes it even more interesting...Look, I didn't try to kill him and I didn't have Maroni killed, either. I haven't had anything to do with the mob for _years_ and I haven't done anything seriously illegal since...God, I don't know, I guess since we went to Mexico. But there's not a chance in hell that you'll believe me, is there?" She felt the scrutiny of his dark eyes boring into her and, gathering her most self-righteous courage, she met his gaze as she would a witness on the stand.

"Just tell me this--what the hell were you up to all those hours in your private little communications room? With the radio and the receivers and everything? That Jake and I were never allowed to step foot in? _Huh? _What were you _doing?" _demanded Rachel.

The Joker stared at her blankly for a moment, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Shit, is _that_ what's got you thinking I'm running the damn mob? Aw, for fuck's sake."

He strode over to the chair and sat down, running his free hand through his green-tinted hair. He looked up at her and shook his head tiredly, letting the muzzle of the gun droop toward the floor.

"Look...when I was a kid, they had a school contest for the best science project, which I won. The prize was a short-wave 'ham' radio. I loved that thing. I set it up and was able to talk to people across the ocean, in other countries, all over the world. It was my...escape. It showed me that there were other worlds, places to go that my father could never find me...I always wanted to build one from scratch and see if I could still escape like that. I did, and...I could."

"Sometimes, when I was too antsy to be around you and Jake, I would hole up in there and just lose myself...yeah, I kept up with what was going on in Gotham, and also Venezuela and Zanzibar and Holland...sometimes, I would just go to sleep in there, because I didn't want to let on to you how bad some of the meds were kicking my ass. And, yes, sometimes I watched porn, and jerked off, and I didn't want you to know 'cause the doc told me that's the kind of thing that would hurt your feelings. But...that's _all. _I wasn't running Maroni's show...I couldn't care less what that was all about anymore."

Rachel knelt by the Joker and took his face in her hand to turn him to look at her.

"You jerked off without me?" she asked in an exaggeratedly hurt tone, with half a grin on her face. She ran a finger down over the greasepaint, leaving a slight trail in the thick white makeup.

"Uh...yeah. That's kind of the _point...." _he replied, delicately.

For a moment they smiled at each other, then she flung her arms around his neck before speaking.

"Oh, my God. I was so scared...I couldn't help but think...can you blame me? But, I believe you, Jack! And, you can't go out there, you just can't. Gordon's men will find you and as he told you, there's nothing he can do to stop you being locked up again..."

"Yeah...but somebody's pulling some kind of shit, using my name, and Dent's spewing it out. Who all do you think he's told by now? Look--I've worked my ass off for two years trying to...to get well, to build a life with you and my kid. Somehow, _Bruce Wayne _was starting to trust me. _Me! _Even Jim-fucking-Gordon took a chance on me! Then, Harvey Dent--'I believe in Harvey Dent', remember?--comes out with this...this _garbage_." He took a pause, and pressed his fingers into his tortured eyes before he continued.

"If it was just me, I wouldn't give a shit. Hell, I'd of been happy to be dead long ago. But, now...these are _your _people...I..I wanted you to be...proud of me. Show 'em you weren't wrong to be with me. And now..._no one's _going to listen. _You_ barely did. Everyone will think you were a fool, and I won't let that stand--whether it's Dent's sick imagination, or if some mob fools are feeding him wrong information, I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

Rachel gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and bit her lip thoughtfully.

"But, Bruce went out for that very purpose, to clear your name."

"He can't do it, sweetheart. He doesn't know where to go, who to see. He'd be better off tracking down ol' Two Face before he hurts himself."

"Oh, don't call him that! And, as for what everyone else thinks, it doesn't matter! If Bruce fails, I don't care, _I _believe you. We'll make Bruce help us get back home, before Jim gets wind of Harvey's story, we'll go back to normal and forget all this ever happened."

"No. You'll always have doubts. You'll always be wondering what I'm up to, more than you already do. I can't do that to you, and to tell you the truth, I can't do that to _me." _

The Joker took another deep breath and rose to his feet. He put the safety back on the gun, thrust it in his pocket, and pulled on his overcoat, chilling Rachel's soul as memories of a very frightening time in her life bubbled up before her. He took her in his arms and looked into her eyes.

"I won't lie next to you knowing you're hearing Harvey's words going through your head, wondering if I've been lying to you all this time. Whatever happens tonight--it'll be better than that, as far as I'm concerned."

"You could be killed...," Rachel whispered.

He shrugged, and said, "I don't intend to be. Regardless, I'm going. You stay with Alfred and Jake, and if you hear from Bat-Brain, tell him to try not to throw me off any buildings until we get this cleared up." He started to turn, thought better of it, and pulled Rachel tightly against himself. For a moment, she saw her Jack, deep in the dark eyes, and when he kissed her, she melted against him, disregarding the long-forgotten taste and feel of the hated greasepaint, the smell and scratch of the old wool coat, and, just for a moment, she was safe and warm in her husband's arms.

"Love you, babe," he murmured in her ear.

"I love you, too. You _better _come back...."

"Well, that's the plan..." he said with a grin.

With that, he released her, turned, and strode over to one of the old-fashioned windows and slid it open, threw the latch on the security bars, and climbed out on the ledge. Rachel ran to watch, but by the time she got there, he had already disappeared.

She carefully locked up behind him, changed her wet and flour-y dress, washed her face, and trudged sadly downstairs to be with her little boy.

* * *


	25. What a Joke

**A/N: So sorry to take so long. I hope this doesn't disappoint. We're nearing the end, folks, just a few more chapters to go! **

* * *

As the polluted air of Gotham City hit Harvey Dent's raw and ragged wounds for the first time since the shooting, he felt a surge of power. A power brought about by the elimination of the irrelevant baggage of his life. Things were simple, now; things were _pure_.

Harvey knew two things, and only these two things mattered. One, the Joker had taken his family away from him forever--he'd killed Rachel, regardless of whoever it was that was walking around in her body these days--and two, the Joker was in town. And, simple math, one plus one equaled one dead Joker.

Escaping from the hospital had been amazingly easy--he had waited until Nurse came to prepare him for a procedure in another room, and once he had both hands free of the restraints, it had been a simple matter to strangle her until her eyes rolled back in her head and she had dropped to the floor in a heap, with a satisfying "whoosh" as she went down. It was the first time she hadn't had anything to say to him, he thought with an inward chuckle. He didn't know, and didn't care, if she was dead; she was just the first obstacle to be methodically dispatched on his way to freedom, and it had felt good. Damn good.

He had dressed in his street clothes, the bloodied ones he'd been wearing when Scalini shot him. The lead shot had left a pattern of small holes and burns in the shoulder of his jacket, and the _smell_...gunpowder, sweat and thick, dried blood...exhilarated him as he slipped it on his broad shoulders. He'd smelled it before, but only on others....

That shot he took...that had been a mistake. He hadn't counted on the Italian coming after him like that. There was a thread of loyalty in the mob, but not, typically, toward the low level grunts that he had been targeting. They were expendable. What it meant, he had discovered, was that he was getting close. Closer, even, than he had thought. Scalini had let loose of _that _little bombshell right before he pulled the trigger. The Joker. Running the deceased Maroni's operation from afar. It figured.

He owed Bruce Wayne a debt of gratitude. God knows what he had been doing there at his apartment that night, but if it hadn't been for him jiggling the door handle, Scalini wouldn't have flubbed his shot, and he, Harvey, would be dead. Instead of just...half.

And, amazingly, Bruce had done exactly what he had tried and failed to do himself. _Bruce had brought the Joker home_. Home, to Gotham City. Right where he belonged. It was a beautiful bonus that Rachel and Jacob had come along, too. Yes...Harvey owed Bruce a _lot. _

He didn't hold it against Bruce that Scalini's missed shot had taken half of his face off. He didn't care about his looks anymore, anyway. Why pretend to be something he wasn't? The pain, however...the pain he had suffered could have done a lot of things, could have weakened him, but he hadn't allowed that. No, he was strong now, stronger than ever, and he had a purpose, a focus, a _mission_, one that _no one _would prevent him from fulfilling.

He was going to find the man--the _monster_--that had taken his Rachel, that had taken their son, and he was going to kill him. Well, he _would _kill him, eventually, but first he would make him pay for everything he had done--the pain he had caused Rachel, the torment Harvey had suffered. He would kill him when he was satisfied that the Joker finally understood what he had done to his family. Then, he would take care of...her. That traitor inhabiting Rachel's beautiful body, like a zombie. Defiled, ruined, and maddened as she was, she would be better off dead, he knew that.

And, little Jacob. He was young, still young enough to save. He would take him away with him, they would start over, and Jacob would become his son again. Over time, he'd forget about her, and he'd forget about _him, _only God knew what horrors that psycho had put the child through, but Harvey would help him heal.

They would help each other heal.

* * *

Batman had a plan. He knew some of the haunts that Harvey had been targeting, and even though he'd left a trail of bodies, that didn't mean that there weren't plenty of players left standing. If there was one thing the mob didn't lack, it was willing members ready at a moment's notice to rise further within the organization.

And, someone would be willing to talk. Batman was an enigma to them. He was a vigilante, dedicated to fighting their hold on his city. But, he did it on his own terms, he wasn't with the police, bound by their rules--he could use them for his own purpose without dragging them off to jail, if it suited him to do so.

Someone would know the truth about the Joker. And they'd tell the Batman.

The Joker...hmpf, _Jack, _she calls him_. _His enemy, his nemesis...how had it come to this? Bringing that madman back to the city, and _now_...now he was seeking proof of his innocence! _Who's the madman, now? _he thought grimly as he skulked along a roofline above the Italian section of town.

_Rachel. _He was doing this for Rachel. The love of his life, now lost to him forever...unless...no, she trusted him. She would believe him. He couldn't very well turn around and go home, tell her that Harvey's story was all true, have Jim bring a damn police squadron or whatever it would take to haul the Joker off to prison once and for all...could he? Maybe _that _would take the blinders off of her eyes so she could see _him, _Bruce, see that he'd always been there for her, waiting...but, no. _No_.

She trusted him.

He loved her.

He couldn't do that to her.

And, the Joker? _Damn it_. _He_ seemed to trust him, too! He'd come back to Gotham, risked so much...because...he, also, really _did _love Rachel? Was it even possible for that psycho to feel love? He seemed to. And, if so...he deserved the truth. And if not...the truth would damn him.

Batman had to find the truth.

* * *

The Joker headed out, scanning the street for an appropriate car to steal; as luck would have it, Alfred had moved one of the vehicles--his own sedan--to a reserved space in front of the penthouse, thinking that he might need to go somewhere in a hurry that night. Joker thought of going back and demanding the keys--but, Alfred might give him trouble, plus Jacob would see him in "uniform", and he didn't want that.

He simply pulled a slim-jim out of his well-equipped overcoat, opened the door and quickly hot-wired the luxury sedan. The Joker grinned--he wondered, after all was said and done, if Bruce would have him prosecuted for grand theft auto. Assuming both of them were still alive. And, if one or both of them still had a sense of humor.

He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror, looked at his dark-ringed eyes surrounded by the white greasepaint. It felt kind of good, but it was...strange, now. There was a time when he thought he'd never have do this again, wearing these clothes, painting his face, loading up a pistol. What a joke, he thought, as if he'd ever had a chance for a normal life.

He drove to a very old Italian neighborhood.

The night had just set in, and the bright red neon "Open" sign illuminating the quaint restaurant's picture window gleamed like a beacon. The Joker parked around back and launched himself out of the car, pulled his gun, and slipped stealthily in through the rear door which opened into the kitchen. He quickly assessed the situation and realized there was no threat--yet. He cheerfully addressed the two men doing kitchen work.

"Goood evening, gents, I'm looking for Mr. Scalini. Anybody know where he might be? Oh, pardon me, let me try that again, _donde esta Senor Scalini_?" The men glanced at each other and one pointed with his thumb at a door behind him. Joker playfully brandished his gun at them, but they merely shrugged and went back to their duties.

The Joker slipped quietly through the door; it appeared to lead to a small storage room, but he reached behind a shelving unit and found the button that slid open a secret panel, and was soon striding down a long hallway. He paused, hearing voices; a door opened and three large Italian men came out, guns drawn.

"_Joker!..._You're fuckin' kiddin' me." Alberto Scalini took the lead and stared at the Joker in mock astonishment as he aimed an automatic rifle at the clown's midsection.

"They said you was dead! What the fuck are you doin' _here_?" he continued.

"Aw, playing dumb does _not _become you, Bertie-boy! Come on, old buddy, you know why I'm here...can't we sit down and have a nice, civilized chat? Hmm? Without your pals, there?" Joker motioned with his gun at the thugs that flanked Scalini.

The man considered, then broke into a broad smile and nodded.

"Sure. Come on, let's have a seat in the living room. You fellas are excused." The other two men looked a bit perturbed, but obediently turned and headed down the hall.

Scalini motioned the Joker into the room, and indicated he should take a seat.

"Can I get you a drink? Wine, beer? Something stronger?"

"Naw, thanks, booze screws with the meds too much. How's about a soda?"

"No problem."

Scalini opened a small refrigerator and took out a can of cola, found a glass and filled it with ice before pouring the drink. He glanced at the Joker and made a show of not adding anything suspicious into the glass.

"Here ya go, and safe as mother's milk."

"Hey, I trust you, Al. You're not a sneak like some people...or, you didn't used to be."

"Joker, if I wanted you dead, you'd be on the floor by now."

"I know that. How you been, man? Long time no see."

"Great, just great. Keepin' it real, you know? Taking care of business, just like Uncle Sal woulda wanted me to...."

"Yeeeah, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. How come you're going around telling Harvey Dent a bunch of shit about me running Sally's franchise? Hmm?" The Joker fixed him with a squinty stare of inquisition. But, before Scalini could answer, a door at the back of the room opened and a gray-haired man in a wheelchair rolled in.

"'Cause he's a good boy. Always does what his Uncle Sal tells 'im to do. Don'tcha, Alberto?" Salvatore Maroni asked fondly.

"I can handle this, Sal. Leave it to me," the younger man hissed.

"Don't be silly! This is the moment I've been waiting for, for _so damn_ _long_...my little Jackie, back where he belongs..."

The Joker stared hard at Salvatore Maroni. Tears stung his eyes and his stomach churned as if he'd been punched. He felt disoriented and wondered if this was what confronting a ghost felt like.

"Sal...you fucking bastard. What the hell, what the fucking _hell...." _the Joker croaked hoarsely.

"Jackie, baby, sorry to surprise you like this! Alberto, I mean it, leave us alone. My old friend and I have a lot to talk about. In _private." _Maroni gestured with his chin toward the door.

"But..." Albert was confused. Things had been going just as expected, and now Uncle Sal was changing the game....

"Get. _Out_." Maroni stared daggers at his nephew, who paused a moment and, lips pursed in anger, strode out of the room, stopping at the door to glance back at the two men. _Dear, double-crossing Uncle Sal_...he knew he couldn't trust him, he thought bitterly. He headed for a certain room to listen in on the bug he had placed recently, surreptitiously attaching it to the back of Sal's chair. At one time, he couldn't have gotten away with it, but now...Sal wasn't as sharp as he used to be, plus he had severely limited mobility. Not that that was stopping him from screwing Albert over, apparently....

"Thought you were dead, old man." The Joker had managed to regain his composure and was now methodically running through the various scenarios that he would have to consider if he were ever to get out of there alive.

"Well, almost!" laughed Sal cheerfully. "It was a funny thing...those damn Jamaicans came after me in my own restaurant, can you believe it? Put a few slugs in me all right. Lucky my nephew's quick on the draw, or they'd of finished me off. In fact...I really did die, Jackie. I was on the operatin' table, and conked out for three minutes, white light and everything...they brought me back, though."

The older man took a cigar out of his pocket and began lighting up.

"Al's a smart kid...he had a great idea! He made sure no one spilled the beans...you know, he took a page from _your_ book! Did a great job, everyone thought I was permanently out of the picture...ah, there's a lot of freedom that goes with bein' dead! Yep, he got the gang bangers off my back, as well as the cops, even my own men who had it in for me...made it look like he was runnin' things, which made my recovery time a lot easier. I wouldn't have wanted to look weak, ya know. Still don't, which is why only a select few know I'm still around, stuck in this wheelchair like a gimp."

He took a long drag on the stogie and puffed out a series of perfect smoke rings.

"And the beauty of it all--my little Jackie thought it was safe to come back to Gotham!" He laughed a deep, throaty laugh.

"So, you had Dent blown half to hell to lure Rachel back, knowing I'd come along..."

"Yeah..."

"Told him I was running things so I'd make my way back here..."

"Uh-huh."

"How'd you know Wayne would find us?"

"He's a rich bastard, and he's in love with your little squeeze. Plus, he's all hot for keeping Dent healthy, so that he can go on 'cleaning up' the city. But, Dent's been loony-tunes for a long time now, picking off my grunts like they was flies. Yeah, he's nuts over your girl, too! That one must give some incredible pussy, am I right? You'll have to tell me all about it sometime, huh? But, yeah, anyway, all I had to do was raise the stakes high enough, and I knew one of your broken down old handymen would crack, once enough of Wayne's dough was on the table."

The Joker inhaled the familiar, sharp, sweet cigar smell and stared out the window.

"What do you want from me, Sal?" he asked almost absently.

"I just want my Jackie back. I just want you doing what you was born to do--helpin' me run this organization the way it was meant to be done. Return us to the days of our former greatness..."

"What's the matter with Al? You said it yourself, he's smart."

"Yeah, but not like you are. He's too soft! And, anyway, you can give me something he can't--after all, he's my nephew...even _I'm_ not _that _creepy. Plus, his mom woulda had me shot if I laid a hand on 'im...like that." He grinned mischievously. "I want you back in my bed again, Jackie. I miss fucking you."

The Joker glared at the man balefully and used his gun to point at the wheelchair.

"Doesn't look like you're up to the task, old man, or does that chair recline?"

Maroni laughed, and said jovially "Now, that's a thought..."

"Well, none of that's going to happen. I've started over, and I'm not going to get dragged down into your world again no matter what, so just forget it."

"Really? So, what, you just gonna let me kill you?"

"I'll kill you first," he said, leveling the gun at Maroni's head.

"Aw, well, I don't doubt that. I did train you well. So, maybe I let you go. But, you won't get far, and you won't make it back to your little lady and your kid, that's for sure. Even if _they_ manage to stay alive."

"Don't threaten my family or this will all be over a lot quicker than you think..."

"No threat, just fact."

"Oh, come on, even you wouldn't kill an innocent woman and child..."

The older man shrugged.

"You'd be surprised at what I'd do to get what I want. Or, maybe you wouldn't be..."

"What does _that _mean?"

"I remember a poor young boy, finally got his ass off the streets, workin' at a diner, all in looove, with a kid on the way..."

"What the fuck..." The Joker's eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted in anger as he realized what the man was referring to--his long-dead love, Claire, murdered so many years ago, pregnant with his child...

"Yeah, back then you were still all full of ideals, weren't ya, kid? Back then, you still thought if you worked hard enough, _tried_ hard enough, that everything would work out all right, didn't ya?"

The Joker felt a sob welling in his throat, and he stood, strode over to Maroni, stuck the gun under his chin and hissed, "What are you saying, Maroni?"

The don cast a pitying smile at the clown.

"Well...if you'll recall, you thought you didn't have the stomach for my line of work. Wouldn't leave the 'path of righteousness' to come to work for a killer, huh? You turned me down flat, them gorgeous eyes of yours looking brave and honest like a Boy Scout. Oh, it was precious." He shook his head, smiling at the sweet memory.

"But I saw it in you, kid, I knew you had what it takes to be one of the greats. A killer's heart, a killer's hands....And...I was right. But I knew it would take something...special...to take you over the edge. I had to bide my time, but once I found out you was in love, well...the rest was easy."

"You...you had Claire murdered? Right before my eyes?" Joker asked brokenly. Too weakened to stand, he crouched down next to the mobster, still aiming the gun at him, but pressing the heel of his other palm into his eye to keep from screaming.

"To tell you the truth, kid, I didn't mean for it to go that far. They was supposed to put her in the car, rough her up, take her off somewhere and have a little fun with her, then drop her on your doorstep. I figured that would be enough...but they screwed it up, big time. Back in those days, I still had a soft spot or two, and I was stupid--I picked the wrong men for the job. But it couldn't have worked out better if I'd planned it," he chortled triumphantly.

"You fucking bastard," Jack said, choking back tears.

"When you called to tell me you iced them retards, I couldn't of had a better present. Your own daddy set it in motion all them years ago, and Sal Maroni finished it off. We created the Joker, your pop and me, signed, sealed and delivered right to my door! It was...perfect."

"I'm going to kill you right now...."

"No, you won't. If I'm dead, Rachel and the kid'll get it. Right now, they're safe and warm in Bruce Wayne's penthouse, but if anything happens to me, that whole joint'll be blown sky high. Like I said, my boy Alberto learned a lot from you, baby...."

Just then, Scalini entered the room, his gun drawn.

"So, Uncle Sally...all this time you been feedin' me a line, huh? About how I'm the one to take over when you're finally ready to give up the throne? How _I'm_ the one, the chosen one? And that all you wanted was revenge on the Joker for betraying you?" He advanced into the room, his automatic weapon trained on his uncle.

"But, it was a lie, wasn't it? All a fucking lie! You just wanted the clown back. You wanted _him_ to be your number one. You couldn't wait to get him back here, under your thumb, could ya? _Could ya?_ And, what about me? Your own flesh and blood, what was to become of me? HUH?"

Maroni snickered evilly.

"I'm gonna leave that up to Jackie--he's a pretty good judge of character, I'm sure he'll know just what to do with ya..."

Just then, in one fluid motion, the Joker stood, energized, and, keeping the gun trained on Scalini, he took a knife out of his pocket. He coolly jabbed it into the older man's throat, and sliced it across the side of Maroni's neck in a deep, clean cut that severed the old mobster's carotid artery, producing a steady stream of blood that immediately soaked his white hand-tailored shirt.

Maroni, shocked, turned his head toward the Joker in disbelief. One hand went to his throat, and he shakily drew it back, covered in blood.

"Jackie...you..."

"Rot in hell, you sick motherfucker..." spat the Joker in a rasping whisper as he wiped the don's dripping blood from the shining steel blade with the kerchief he pulled from Maroni's own breast pocket.

"Kill...him..." were Maroni's last gasping words to his nephew.

"Sorry, Sal...I don't kill people who do me such great favors."

Both men stood silently and watched as Salvatore Maroni took his last, struggling breath.

The Joker turned to Scalini, keeping the gun steady.

"So...what'll it be?" he asked wearily. "Knives, guns...your choice, my friend. I won't let you kill my family."

"No need. No killing. I meant what I said--you did me a favor, something I should have done myself a long time ago. You go on and get out of here, go back to your woman and son. I'll get this...mess...taken care of."

"The cops..."

"Hey--you can't kill a man who's already dead!...Uncle Sal's going to have a lovely burial at sea. No one'll ever connect you to this, and I'll take my rightful place as the head of the organization. I'm in your debt, Joker, so if there's anything you ever need...."

"Um...dismantle the bomb at Wayne's place?"

The man took out a cell phone, punched in a number and barked some cryptic instructions.

"Done."

"Oh, and get the word to Batman that I haven't been playing with you boys these last few years, will ya? So he'll get off my back? He's so ready to kick my ass into prison, it's not even funny."

"Don't worry, nobody's happier to dispel that rumor than me. How pissed do you think _I've_ been, givin' you credit for all my hard work?" Both men laughed ruefully, and the Joker took one last look at Maroni and his grin faded. He sighed heavily.

"I used to love him, Al. He really was like a father to me, once. A sick fuck of a father, maybe, but still..."

"Yeah, I know. You...he loved you, too, in his own freakazoid little way. In his eyes, I was never going to be as good as you..."

"He killed Claire..." the Joker whispered, amazed at how sharp the pain in his heart was, even after all these years.

"I know. He used to tell me about it, over and over, like a fuckin' bedtime story. How he got the Joker into the family. But...you didn't stay there, did ya? You got out. I always admired that about you. How'd you have the guts to do it?"

The Joker grinned just a little.

"I dunno. Helps to be bat-shit crazy, though."

With that he glanced at the window.

"This way out?" he asked.

"Naw, man, you can use the door...."

The Joker gave an appreciative laugh, and slunk out of the room, carefully watching to be sure he wasn't double-crossed.

It was only when he had Alfred's sedan rolling away from the restaurant that he relaxed enough to allow the pressure building in his chest to escape in the form of a raw, primal scream that slowly degenerated into a howl of sick, hysterical laughter. He pulled the car into an alley, got out, fell to his knees and puked his guts out beside a dumpster.

When he could breathe normally again, he got back in the car. He had to find Two-Face.

Before Two-Face found him.

Or Rachel.


	26. Let's Talk About Baseball

**A/N: I have spring fever!! Hope you all are doing well, school's going to be out soon, woo-hoo! Thank you to everyone for reading, as always, reviews are deeply appreciated! **

**Reenieca**t

* * *

Rachel was rocking Jacob in the old rocking chair Alfred had pulled out of a storage closet. She was softly singing the child a lullaby, hoping he would magically slip off into a restful sleep in spite of his wiggly, whiny resistance. Holding her son was wonderfully therapeutic--it was difficult to imagine anything bad happening in their world while the warm, squirmy little body was cradled in her arms. She smiled as she pressed her lips into the tangle of silky blond curls that she couldn't quite bear to cut off just yet.

The small boy was clearly drowsy from exhaustion, but defiantly clinging to consciousness. Jacob's large, chocolate brown eyes--so like his father's--just wouldn't close all the way. _Stubborn creature_, Rachel thought affectionately. _Exactly like his father...._

"Where's Daddy, Mommy?" Jake suddenly asked softly.

"He...had to go out for a while, sweetheart. He'll be back..."

"Want Daddy..." he said plaintively, almost crying.

"I know. Don't worry, he'll be back...Daddy'll come back." If she kept saying it, maybe it would come true. "Daddy loves you so much...." she whispered.

She gathered her little boy closer to her and kissed him, starting the song again as she comfortingly rubbed the small back. After a little more struggling, he gave up, and was finally breathing evenly, eyes shut tight, sound asleep.

Rachel continued rocking him, and Alfred treaded gently into the room, taking care not to make any noise. He carried a stack of bedding.

"Shall I prepare a little bed on the couch for him, miss?" he asked quietly.

Rachel nodded gratefully, and once Alfred had laid a small blanket and a soft pillow on the couch, she surrendered the sleeping child and covered him with the patchwork quilt that Alfred handed her. She tucked it securely around him so that he wouldn't be able to wriggle out from under it very easily.

"Thank you. I hope he can get some rest, he's been going ninety miles an hour ever since we got here...." Rachel spread her feet apart, leaned far back with her hands on her lower back and stretched painfully. She immediately had to press her hands over the lower part of her tummy as the baby inside her took its cue and helpfully shifted directly onto her bladder. She winced.

"You all right, mum?" Alfred asked observantly.

"Oh, yes. It's just that these last couple of months are murder...." the ugly word slipped out and she frowned. With Jack running around Gotham, armed, she thought it might bring bad luck. She pushed the thought away.

"It'd be nice to have his energy, though, eh?" asked Alfred as he surveyed Jacob's makeshift accommodations, thoughtfully placing a large pillow on the floor next to the couch in case he fell off.

"Oh, yes it would! I don't know what I'm going to do with two of them...."

"You'll do wonderfully, Rachel. You're a very good mother," Alfred said approvingly.

"Well, thanks. I feel like I've done a terrible thing, bringing him back to the city...oh, God, what if Jack _doesn't _come back...." The horrible thoughts and images that she had been determinedly shoving into the back of her mind ever since Jack had disappeared out of the bedroom window suddenly whipped through her, and she caught herself in mid-sob.

Alfred patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"I'm quite certain Master Wayne will make sure everything comes out as it should. He's very good at that."

"Yeah, well, Jack's..._not. _He has a way of finding the most dangerous path to take, and then bringing a little chaos along with him, just to make it interesting...I'm afraid even Bruce won't be able to help him, now. And what if Jack does something terrible, himself? All the stress he's under. He could...."

"Well, it'll do no good to make yourself sick from worry. Why don't you come sit with me in the kitchen and keep me company while I make us some dinner?"

"Oh...that's a good idea. I'm sorry, I'm just...." Rachel's voice lost strength as she dutifully followed Alfred. After slowly lowering herself onto a seat at the kitchen table, she picked up a newspaper and idly scanned the front page. It was nice to see that there was no mention of Harvey, the Joker, or Batman--or herself, for that matter--very different than when she last scanned the headlines of the Gotham City News, two long years ago.

They were both silent for a long time, each listening...listening. For what, neither was quite sure...finally, Alfred spoke up.

"Miss Rachel...may I ask you a very personal question?" he asked politely.

"Oh, Alfred, you've known me my whole life, please--ask me anything," Rachel responded with a smile.

"What, exactly, is it about that man--Jacob's father--that you find so...appealing?" Alfred asked delicately as he sliced a potato.

Rachel laughed.

"You mean my _husband?"_

"Uh...yes, mum."

"Come on, isn't it obvious?" she asked teasingly.

"Ah, well--perhaps not so much as you might think," Alfred responded dryly.

"I _love _Jack. I...he's not like you think," she said thoughtfully, her voice now soft.

"I know it's hard to believe, but he's _not _the Joker, not anymore. He's a loving father--he'd do anything for his kids, and Jake adores him. He's a wonderful husband. He takes care of me without smothering me, he challenges me without hurting me, and he drives me crazy and makes me love every darn minute of it." Alfred put down his work and watched as Rachel's eyes took on a faraway look.

"He's...got an illness, Alfred. He's damaged, there's no question of that. But he's doing his damnedest to control it. He has more courage than anyone I've ever known, well, except maybe for Bruce, but even Bruce hasn't had to overcome the kinds of things Jack has. And...I don't know, he makes me laugh. He's a heck of a good kisser. And he makes me feel safe, I know that sounds bizarre, but it's true. Things aren't perfect, but no relationship is...I wish you could get to know him, I think you'd understand, then."

"I'm sure I would. And, I hope to. Get to know him, I mean. Someday." Alfred wasn't entirely sure he meant that, but it seemed the kind thing to say.

"Yes, although, if he...I mean, _when _he comes back, he's going to want to get the hell out of this town as fast as possible. And I can't blame him for that..."

"No, mum. A perfectly reasonable desire, I would say."

"Yes. I wish we could stay, just for a normal visit, but that's never going to be possible...."

"Oh, I don't know. Things could work out in the end."

"You're a real optimist, aren't you, Alfred?" Rachel asked with a wry smile.

"Have to be, mum, working for Master Wayne. If I started looking at the dark side of things, I'd never get out of bed in the mornings."

"Right...well, I..."

The front doorbell rang. Alfred hastily checked the security monitor--a uniformed police officer was standing at the door.

Rachel's stomach turned a somersault as she struggled to her feet.

"Oh, Alfred! What if Jack's been...."

"Now, don't jump to conclusions, mum! He could just be here to check on you. Or perhaps Master Wayne or Commissioner Gordon has sent a message for us. Let me go find out, and don't you worry, all right?" Alfred made his voice as soothing as possible, but he, himself, had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He headed for the door, leaving Rachel to nervously fiddle with her wedding ring as she watched the monitor.

There was a door in the back part of the kitchen. It lead to a hallway, which in turn lead to the service area around back of the penthouse, where trash was taken out and deliveries made. Rachel thought she heard something in the hall, a faint rustling noise, when there was a sudden cry from the living room. It sounded like Alfred.

Rachel gasped and started to dash toward the door, when she was shocked to feel a scratchy, woolen-clad arm came out of nowhere and roughly grab her around the neck. She instantly felt a hard object pressing into her lower back.

"Jack?" she asked hopefully.

"Not quite," said a familiar voice.

* * *

The Joker took an erratic route driving toward Bruce Wayne's place. He hoped he could catch a glimpse of Dent scuttling around on his way to the same destination, while also managing to avoid traffic signals, panhandlers, cops, carjackers, Batman, and every other goddamn obstacle that fucking Gotham City was likely to throw at him.

All he wanted to do was to get back to Rachel and Jake, scoop them up and get them the hell out of this rotting shit-hole of a town and take them back home, although he supposed he'd need Bruce's help for that. But at least he could make sure they were safe....

He did finally catch a red light, and irritably came to a stop; he didn't want to risk attracting the attention of some well-meaning traffic cop, not that he couldn't have dealt with it, but he didn't have the time. Or the patience. He was just pondering which direction would be the most fruitful for his Dent-hunting needs, when he heard the dull thud of something heavy landing on the hood of the car. At the same time, an opaque black cloud wafted over the windshield, totally obscuring his vision.

"Oh, _fuck," _he thought as the view instantly cleared and he then heard a sharp crunch as the passenger side window was smashed in by a Kevlar-clad fist. The masked man reached in, opened the door and slid into the now glass-covered seat.

"I _would_ have just unlocked the door for ya, Bats," the Joker stated mildly.

"Drive."

"Anywhere in particular, maestro?"

"Home."

"'K."

The pair drove in silence for a few minutes, until the Joker couldn't stand it anymore.

"_So? _Did you manage to confirm my story, or are you planning to throw me in your little rabbit cage again as soon as we get back to the house?"

"You were telling the truth," Batman agreed flatly.

"Well, don't be overcome with joy, or anything. You _could _say something positive, a brief word of encouragement, a 'hey, pal, way _not_ to run the mob!' type comment. Or_ something."_

"It's a cold day in hell when the Joker tells the truth, if you ask me..."

"Aw, come on, can't you give me a break? I thought we were getting to be buds, you know? We were just this side of slapping each other on the back, buying each other beers and talking baseball stats..."

"Not really."

"No? Damn. I was looking forward to going to a couple of double-headers with ya...."

"I think I'd rather hang out with a rabid skunk."

"You're a hard man, Bats. No breaking through that steely shell of self-righteousness, is there?"

"You told the truth regarding Harvey's accusation, I'll give you that."

"Gosh, _that's_ encouraging," the Joker smirked sarcastically.

"But, something that he apparently didn't know and that you didn't bother to mention--you had Maroni murdered. Rachel might find _that _news to be a bit discouraging," Batman stated coldly.

_"Excuse _me?"

"You paid to have that Jamaican gang gun him down."

The Joker stared straight ahead, twisting his mouth into a sneer of disgust.. _Damn Scalini...couldn't he have found a contact for Batman that only said what _needed_ to be said? Apparently he should have been more specific...._

"Yeah--so? What's the big deal, he was gonna go down sooner or later anyway, I just worked the timeline for my convenience."

"It just goes to show that you haven't really changed at all. No respect for justice. Human life means nothing to you. I don't think Rachel quite comprehends that."

The Joker looked at his companion with a sour frown.

"Listen, I _had_ to do it. Didn't have a choice. So, don't go making me out to be some kind of monster. I did it for Rachel--and for Jake."

"How's that?" Batman asked dubiously.

The Joker stared at the street ahead of him, but his mind went back two years....

"When I took them to Mexico, it was to save 'em from Maroni. I had to get them out of the city until I could figure out what to do. You know what was going on--you were there. He was hell bent on using them to get to me, and he...he'd have hurt 'em, one way or another."

"So, I took them where he couldn't find us. But I knew Rachel wouldn't be happy there for long, away from her home, her job, and dear ol' Harvey. I knew she wouldn't be happy--with _me_. So, I promised her. I promised her it was only for a little while, and that she could go back as soon as it was safe. But I began to realize that it never _would _be safe as long as Maroni was around. And I knew she'd never believe what Maroni was capable of, so I had to _make_ it safe. And, I did." His voice was gravelly.

"Honest, Bruce...I never thought in a million years that she would want to stay with me. I couldn't believe it when she said she didn't want to go back...."

_And, thank God she didn't go,_ he thought. You can't trust anyone these days, damn Maroni surviving the hit like that...when he thought of what could have happened if Rachel _had_ returned to Gotham, it made his stomach lurch.

They were silent again for a while, when Batman spoke.

"So...you did it to save her and Jacob. Not for revenge?" Batman asked suspiciously.

"Oh, look, I was _done! _None of that stuff mattered anymore...I just...I just wanted to start over. I thought I might wangle a couple of rolls in the hay with Rachel and get to spend a little time with my kid before they left forever, and then I'd quietly drink myself to death. Maybe fall into the ocean and get washed away with the driftwood. Perfect ending, you know?"

"Quite an ambition."

"Well, it worked for _me_. Until Rachel said...said that she, you know_...loved _me."

Even now, just saying the words felt uncomfortable, especially when he was talking to the Bat, but he kind of liked the sound of them. He grinned slightly and glanced at his passenger.

Batman shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

"Well, it's nice that your murderous impulses are reserved for protecting the people you care about. Too bad there's only two of them in the entire world."

"I'm warming up to _you_, Batsy!" the Joker announced cheerfully.

"_There's_ good news. I still don't trust you."

"Yeah, and you probably never will. But, I'm tellin' ya, I'm just trying to take care of my wife and kid. If everybody would just leave us alone, I'd be fine."

"I would _love _to leave _you_ alone. But for now, we just need to get Harvey under control...."

"He's probably already gotten into the house, you know," Jack said bleakly.

"Yes. But, he won't hurt Rachel, not yet. He wants to let her see him kill _you, _first," Bruce informed his driver.

"Lovely. Ya know, other than his pathetic ideals and wanting to take Rachel away from him, I never had anything against Harvey. He was nice to my son."

"Well, he's a different person, now," Batman said wearily.

"So, people can change, but only for the worse?" asked the Joker with a cynically raised eyebrow.

"People are one thing. I don't know what you are."

"I'm just a guy, Bats. Like _you. _We just live by different rules."

"You have no rules."

"Sure I do, well, _one_, anyway. It's called 'fuck with my family--you die.'" The Joker shrugged as he rounded the corner to the rear area of the penthouse.

"What the hell..." he said as he saw a man in a suit disappear into the service door.

"I think we found Harvey," replied Bats. "Pull into that area in font of that container."

"Here? Why?"

"Yeah. You'll see."

The electronic eye on the bat cave entrance allowed the hidden door to slide open, and the Joker nodded as he drove in.

"Cool set-up!" the Joker noted with real admiration as he glanced around the surroundings.

"Wait'll you see Wayne Manor when it's rebuilt," Bats said with a slight smile.

"Ha...you planning on inviting me to the housewarming?"

"Sure...I'll seat you in the straight-jacket section with all the other Arkham escapees."

The Joker gave a begrudging grin as they got out of the car. He noticed the deep indentations that Batman's boots had left on the hood of the vehicle, in addition to the broken window.

"Hey, Alfred's going to kill you, Bats. Look at the mess you made of his car."

"He'll get _you_ first for stealing it." The Joker gave him a look of mock fear.

They walked toward the security monitoring system, and Batman tapped at it, getting a view of the penthouse's front door. The Joker craned his neck over Batman's shoulder.

"And, what the hell is _that?_" he exclaimed, his voice raw, as he saw a uniformed police officer walking away from the door with a blond-headed bundle swathed in a quilt in his arms.

"It looks like...."

"That bastard's got Jake..."

"Wait, Joker, it could be legit...something could have already happened...."

"Bullshit. That guy's one of the mob's dirty cops, I bet Harvey's got him on _his_ payroll now...he's kidnapping my son, and that means Harvey's gotten to Rachel by now...."

The two men stared at each other, the Joker a razor-sharp coil of wire, ready to spring.

Batman headed to his own vehicle.

"Take those stairs, they lead into the kitchen, which is where Harvey was headed...I'll be back as soon as I have Jake," he instructed hastily.

Without a second thought, the Joker turned and raced up the stairs to find his wife. He wanted to go after Jacob, but...Bats could deal with that easily. He trusted him to find and reclaim his son.

The Joker would take care of Harvey.


	27. Madness

**A/N: You're going to be mad at me for where I stopped, but I didn't want to make this chapter go on forever! Don't worry, I've already got the next one sketched out, so it should be posted by next week. Also, there is mention in this chapter of events from my previous story, "Rachel's Story", so I hope it's not too confusing. **

**Thank you to everyone for reading, and of course, for reviewing!! Please let me know if you are enjoying the story, or if you have suggestions or constructive criticism. It would make my day to hear from you!**

* * *

The Joker slowed his steps as he entered the hallway leading to Bruce Wayne's large modern steel and glass kitchen; his movements became silent as a ghost's. Almost by instinct, he navigated the narrow passageway around trash containers and boxes without making a sound. It was dark as hell, but he could see the thin yellow glow framing the outline of the entry door, and he could hear muffled voices, first a man's, then a woman's.

_Rachel's. _

Jack had missed a couple of doses of his meds. It wasn't the first time; normally he could easily go a full day, or even two, without feeling significant ill effects, but, this time the stress had been too severe and the strain completely unrelenting. He was uncomfortably aware of a subtle struggle going on in his mind.

It was a coping mechanism he had developed over the course of his abused childhood, the ability to slip into a state of disassociation in which his mind left his body while still fully in command of his actions. It was what had enabled him to survive to adulthood, to do the things he had had to do to make his way through his violent teenage years, and to take the beatings doled out by cops, prison guards, and Batman--and to laugh it all off.

But he couldn't afford the luxury of slipping away now. He needed to be fully _there_ when he faced Harvey Dent, because, for the first time, he wasn't concerned about his own survival--he just wanted to make sure his wife and unborn child were brought to safety.

She was in there with Harvey, and Jake was gone. God knows what had happened to Alfred, not that he cared that much, but he was a nice guy and Jake seemed to like him...Jack's stomach tightened. _The stakes are too high, _he thought. In all of his battles, the bottom line was simple--no matter how desirable winning might have been, when he got right down to it, he didn't really care what happened. It was all a big joke. His continuing to live was the punch line.

But, not now. Not this time. There was only one outcome that counted, and that was saving his family. The pressure in his head was stifling.

He carefully opened the door a fraction. He eased it wider until he could just see the pair at the far end of the room. Rachel was seated, probably tied up. He could hear them better than he could see them, and he took time to listen, trying to get a fix on the situation.

"Harvey, please...." Rachel's voice was strained, but she wasn't hysterical. Jack almost smiled; God, he loved a tough broad.

"I'm begging you, don't hurt Jacob, he hasn't done anything to you...."

"Don't worry. Jacob is an innocent victim in all this. I've made sure that he's perfectly safe...I'd never hurt _him."_

"Then, where have you taken him? And_, why?" _Rachel cried out in frustration. Her arms still ached from her vicious struggle to escape Harvey's grasp as she realized her son was being stolen from her.

"He's safe, that's all that matters as far as you're concerned. I'm his father, you know. We're going to be together again. And, I'm going to raise him, just as I was meant to do...."

"Oh, God...."

"I was there all the time he was growing inside you, remember? I was there when you went into labor, when your water broke. I was there when he was born. Who held him first, hmm? Who cut the umbilical cord? _Me_...he became _my son _in that moment, don't you understand? And you took him from me, you took him, to be with that _freak...."_

"Ok. Ok. You're right. It was wrong of me to leave you like that, not to contact you...but I never meant to hurt you. Harvey, I wasn't trying to hurt you...."

"You made a fool of me...you used me until that monster came to claim you and you went without a second thought, didn't you? _Didn't you??"_

The Joker could see well enough to ascertain that Harvey was holding a gun on Rachel, but he couldn't take an accurate shot without alerting him to his presence. Ok. If he had to get his attention, he'd _get _it, big-time.

He took a deep breath, and thought to himself, _"Showtime!" _as he violently slammed open the door, startling the other man and bringing a shriek from Rachel. The Joker strode in with his gun leveled at Harvey's head.

"Gooood evening, folks! How's everybody doin'?" he exclaimed in full Joker voice.

"Jack! Oh, Jack, you're all right!" Rachel gasped in momentary relief.

"Sure, babe, I'm all right...I was just enjoying listening to you and your ex-boyfriend chatting about the past...you're absolutely right, Harvey-boy. She _did_ come with me without a second thought about _you_....Yeah, Gotham's white knight thought he found his little princess, but the princess turned out to be a _slut_. I could see that right away--I _like_ that in a woman. You couldn't see that we're two of a kind, Rachel and me. She was never for _you, _Harvey. She was made for _me_...she was just waiting around for me to find her, and then it was aaall over for you two." He clicked his tongue and gave a nasty wink.

Jack could see a hurt look in Rachel's eyes, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was distract the madman, focus his fury and attention on himself just long enough to get a clear shot and not risk Harvey's shooting Rachel.

Harvey found his voice. His mind was suddenly filled with a blind hatred at the man standing before him.

"You sick psychopathic freak! It's all your fault, everything! You brainwashed her, you stole her from me, you stole my son from me! We were happy until you came along...."

"No, no, no, no....you were _content_, that's very different. And, Rachel--well, really Harvey, let's be honest--she was bored to death! Why the hell do you think she flirted with me in that interrogation room the first time we met, hmm? What do you think she was doing, batting those gorgeous blue eyes at a freak in a purple suit and clown makeup, huh? I think...I think Rachel was getting ready to take a walk on the wild side, even then. I just made it _worthwhile."_

_"No!..._No, you _kidnapped_ her, you tortured her, you broke her..."

"Oh, ah, well, let's see, I probably did create a little mental duress right there in the beginning, but, uh, as I recall...she made a deal with me...her captivity for your _life_. So, you owe her, buddy! She _saved_ you. She allowed you to live, and all she had to do was submit to my filthy animal passions for a few weeks...and the funny thing was, it didn't take very long, not very long at all, for her to, shall we say, turn a corner? By the time I sent her home to you, she'd already become mine...and I guarantee you, I didn't brainwash her. She just _liked_ it."

Harvey's thin grasp on reality began to shudder with the strain of maintaining his focus.

"You lie. You don't know anything about her..."

"I know how to make her _come_, every single time...I know how to..."

"Shut up, _clown. _You're going to pay for what you did. You're going to regret it. I'll _make _you regret it."

Harvey was now pressing the barrel of his gun against Rachel's pregnant belly.

* * *

As the Joker was entering the Wayne penthouse, Batman was speeding after the retreating police car containing little Jacob. He managed to catch up to it, close enough to do what he needed to do, but at a distance great enough to avoid revealing his presence to the dirty cop at the wheel. Bats pushed a button on his dash, and a tiny tracking device silently shot out and stuck to the car's bumper without ever alerting the driver.

Bats would not allow this to turn into a high speed chase--it was too dangerous for the boy. He didn't know if the cop had put Jacob in a seat belt, but even if so, he was too small for it to protect him properly in the event of a crash, and he could tell there was no car seat in the back.

Instead, using the tracking device and following inconspicuously, Bats realized that the driver was heading straight for Harvey's apartment. _Harvey really did lose it completely, _thought Bruce. To be so delusional that he thought he could sequester the boy in his own apartment....but it was a good thing. The apartment wasn't far, and Batman could easily take a different route, head him off and surprise the cop as soon as he got out of the vehicle, thereby assuring Jake's safety.

He parked illegally on the far side of the building, and the cop pulled up in front a few minutes later. He had just gotten out of the car and was walking around to retrieve the boy from the back seat, when a hard blow to the back of his head knocked him out, dropping him to the ground.

Batman picked up the uniformed man, noting his name and badge number--he'd see to it that Jim Gordon took care of him later--and plopped him back into the driver's seat, unconscious.

Bats could hear little Jacob's muffled sobbing, and he hastily opened the rear door of the police car. Jacob was buckled in, but he was trussed up in his quilt with a thin rope to prevent him from struggling free. Batman deftly popped open the seat belt and unwrapped him from his covering, but the small boy began shrieking at the sight of the masked man.

"Shhh, shhh, Jacob, it's me! Uncle Bruce! I'm going to take care of you, ok? Please, buddy, don't scream, don't scream..."

The little boy stared disbelievingly at the tall man as he deftly cut the rope constraining him using a device from his utility belt and pulled Jacob into his arms to carry him to his own vehicle.

"You...you're Uncle _Bruce?" _the boy gasped in astonishment.

"Yup."

"Why're you dressed like that?"

"I'll explain it later...come one, bud, we've got to get you somewhere safe."

"That bad man stole me."

"I know."

"Why'd he steal me?"

"Because...he's a bad man."

Bruce wasn't sure what the most comforting explanation for a little kid who had just been kidnapped would be, and, absurdly, found himself wishing Jack were there. _He _seemed to speak fluent three-year-old. However, Bruce's logic seemed to be satisfactory and the boy nodded.

"Oh...where we going?"

_Good question, kid, _Bruce thought. It hadn't occurred to him until that moment that he couldn't very well take the child back to the penthouse--only God knew what was going on there, and he couldn't leave him all alone in the bat cave indefinitely...suddenly, he had a thought.

"Don't worry, Jake, I'm taking you to a friend's house."

Bats drove the several blocks to another old, but expensive, apartment building, and quickly parked. He fashioned a halter from a strap in his belt and wrapped it around the child's waist. Then the tall, muscular hero grasped Jacob tightly in one strong arm and shot a grappling hook and automatic pulley device up to a particular seventh floor balcony, making for a rapid ascent, thereby avoiding curious residents while dressed in his bat outfit. The adventure made the little boy giggle with excitement.

"That was _fun_, Uncle Bruce! Do it again!" he exclaimed admiringly when Batman set him down on the landing. Bats couldn't help but smile as he rapped on a window to attract the inhabitant's attention.

"Maybe some other time, buddy...." he promised as he tousled the boy's hair affectionately.

* * *

Lucius Fox was happily settling in for the evening. He was preparing to relax and watch the game with a bowl of popcorn and a beer, when he heard the commanding rap of knuckles on his living room window.

"What the _hell..." _he thought, annoyed, as he turned to see what in the world was going on behind him. He saw his employer, dressed in an outfit which he himself had created, standing on the fire escape, inexplicably accompanied by a small boy.

He paused a moment, considering. It wasn't as though he could pretend he didn't see them. He then sighed, and set his popcorn and beer on the coffee table; "I just know I'm going to regret this..." he thought as he got to his feet and went to open the window.

"Mister Wayne...to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? And who is this young man?" he asked as Bruce swept Jacob through the window and into Lucius' living room before climbing in himself.

"It's a long story, no time to explain. This is Jacob. Jacob, this is Lucius and he's going to take care of you until I can come back to get you. Do what he says, ok?" Jacob gazed a bit suspiciously at Lucius, but nodded cooperatively.

"Take _care_ of him? Mr. Wayne, that is _not_ in my job description. I don't have the slightest idea how to care for a little child like this! And, forgive my curiosity, sir, but who exactly _are_ his mom and dad?" the older man asked worriedly.

"Rachel Dawes...and the _Joker." _Bruce took care to whisper the name in Lucius' ear, out of Jacob's range of hearing.

Aside from an eyebrow that shot straight up, Lucius' calm face didn't reveal any of the tension he was suddenly feeling, but he gave a sideways glance at the angelic blond-haired boy who was already curiously exploring his apartment.

"Should I be afraid?" he asked wryly.

"Probably. But he's only three."

"Hmm. Good reason to be afraid right there, no matter who his father is. Bruce, I'm not _used_ to children, much less..."

"Me either. Just give him some food, that'll occupy him for a while. Do you have any crayons?"

"Uh...not for the last forty years or so, no."

"Well, you'll think of something...I have to go."

"Wait...what the _hell _is going on? When'll you come back?"

"It's complicated. I swear I'll tell you later. And, I don't know when I'll come back...just keep the kid alive until then, that's all I'm asking."

"I can probably do that much, but..."

"Thanks, Lucius!" said Bruce as he backed out the window.

"But, wait! I don't know what to...." Lucius felt a small but insistent tug at his pants leg. He looked down to see a rather accusatory glare coming from the little guy.

"Yes?" he asked quizzically.

"I have to go to the _bathroom," _Jake announced firmly.

"Uh....ok...go ahead," Lucius agreed mildly.

"I don't know where it _is!" _Jake explained in indignant frustration.

"Oh! Ok, son, I'll show you...." Lucius steeled himself for what he feared was going to be a considerably trying time as he led the child to the restroom down the hall.

The _Joker's_ son. In his _house_.

And Bruce Wayne was wearing the Kevlar.

* * *

Jim Gordon was wishing he had some serious pain killers in his glove box, but no such luck. His back was killing him. And, he hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep since he found out the Joker was coming back to Gotham. But, somehow, as far as the Wayne household was concerned, things had been perfectly quiet. Maybe too quiet? He was on his way home, but his cop's instinct had him veer off course and head toward Bruce Wayne's penthouse.

Even though he hadn't heard from Bruce, it wouldn't hurt to check up on his houseguests, one former clown in particular, he thought. He'd feel better knowing the Joker was staying put, as Bruce had promised, while Batman was on the hunt for Harvey Dent. Bruce had pleaded with Jim not to alert his men as to Harvey's disappearance until the Batman had a chance to go after him. He had been pretty sure he knew where Dent was going, and the damage that would be caused by revealing Harvey's condition would be disastrous.

Even so, it all sounded a bit wonky to the Commissioner. Working with a vigilante like Batman was a two-edged sword, for sure. Having Rachel meet with Harvey hadn't seemed to help anything; in fact, it seemed to make everything worse.

He could only hope that Batman had Harvey in custody, that the Joker and his family could be sent on their way out of the country as soon as possible, and that everything could then get back to normal. Then, maybe he could get some sleep.

Jim parked and headed up to the penthouse. He had the access code that allowed him to get as far as Bruce's front door, and he rang the bell, hoping to be met by the stoic figure of Alfred, who could assure him as to the complacency of the household. Somehow, as he waited a tad too long, he feared that was not to be.

* * *

"Aw, put the gun down, Harvey. You don't want to kill an unborn child, do ya? That's just sick. Terrible PR for the DA's office, you know?" snarled the Joker.

"Shut up. You destroyed my family, and now it's my turn. Give me that." He motioned with his free hand at the Joker's gun, taking care to keep his own pressed hard against Rachel's belly.

"Don't do it, Jack," pleaded Rachel. "Just shoot him! Please, Jack, shoot him...."

Jack had to make some rapid-fire calculations. He _could_ shoot Dent, but there was the real possibility that Harvey's gun would go off when he did. Bats said Dent wanted Rachel to watch as he killed him; that was good. He knew that, as long as Harvey was occupied with Jack, Rachel would be ok. With Harvey wanting to extract some justice out of the Joker, that meant he'd torture him first, thus buying them some time. He was certain he could handle anything Two-Face handed out. And, surely Bruce would be back soon....

"Ok, Harvey, here ya go." Jack said accommodatingly as he tossed the gun to the side. "What now? What're you going to do to me that'll make up for having half your face blown off, huh? I bet you've been thinking on it for a while, right? I bet..."

Without another word, Harvey aimed the gun at Jack and pulled the trigger. He so wanted to silence the clown's grating, mocking voice. But he took care--he didn't want him dead, not yet.

The blast tore through Jack's shoulder and the power of the impact threw him backward. He managed to stay upright, but then his legs gave way, and, stunned, he dropped to his knees.

"Jack! NO!" Rachel screamed.

"Shut your filthy mouth, you bitch!" Dent shouted as he turned back to Rachel, aiming the heated barrel of his gun straight at her. The tears running down her cheeks and her wretchedly distressed expression pleased him very much. This was what he had been craving, needing, for so long.

His voice now dropped to a warm lilt.

"Don't worry, darling, I'm not nearly done with him...I'm not nearly done with _either_ of you...we've just gotten started." The good side of the madman's face smiled, creating a grotesque appearance of satisfaction that burned into Rachel's memory, causing her to choke back her tears in horror. "_Insanity is like gravity..." _Jack had told her once.

It appeared that Harvey was about to give her a little push.


	28. Don't Joke With Me

**A/N: We are very close to the end! Just a couple more chapters, hope you like this one...thank you!**

*** * ***

Jack struggled to regain a standing position and stared intently at the shooter, absently pressing his left hand against his wound. The bullet had broken his collarbone and ripped through his flesh, exiting the other side, but somehow the deep reverberations of burning pain radiating through his torso and down into his limbs didn't bother him. The iron will he used to maintain control over his subconscious was gone; his mind had disassociated and he was no longer inhabiting his body. Awareness of pain was now compartmentalized, and he ranked it low on his priority list.

The warm sticky wetness of his own blood draining out of the wound seeped around his fingers and onto his chest, soaking his clothes, making a cold place where the air chilled it. This annoyed him much more than the pain, but even that barely registered in his conscious thoughts.

Instead, he was occupied making rapid-fire calculations. At this point, he was little more than an animal facing a particularly scrappy bit of prey; he never questioned whether or not he would succeed in taking it down, he just needed to use a little extra finesse and compensate for the compromised state of his primary arm. There was a fraction of a second where he could have thrown himself forward and grabbed his gun, but using his slower left hand would have given Dent time to react. So, he'd wait....

Suddenly, a groan came from near the front door, and Alfred painstakingly found his way up onto his feet. He gripped his arm where the dirty cop's taser had popped him, and shook off the mental fog the tasing had left him with.

"Good Lord," he gasped as he took in the situation playing out before him.

"Stay right there, Alfred," commanded Harvey as he stepped back to stand next to Rachel, returning the gun to its former placement on her swollen belly.

"You're not a part of this, but why should you miss out on the fun? Now, come over here and...." Harvey's instructions were cut off as the doorbell rang.

Everyone tensed and the room became completely silent until Harvey spoke.

"Find out who it is, and keep in mind where this gun is pointing," he snarled at Alfred.

Alfred stared at the gun in the mad DA's hand before slowly turning and looking through the peephole in the door.

"It's Commissioner Gordon," he stated, glaring back at Dent.

"Get rid of him," Dent spat, as well as he could with only half his lips intact.

Alfred nodded, and carefully opened the door.

"Hello, Alfred, how are you?" Jim greeted him cheerfully.

"Commissioner...how can I help you?" Alfred asked in a flat tone of voice.

"Well, I just wanted to stop by and check on Rachel and her family...may I come in?"

"Actually, sir, Miss Rachel wasn't feeling well. She's sound asleep, they all are, and I would hate to wake her, if you don't mind."

"Ah, pregnant women, eh? Well...all right. Just so long as everything's still under control...."

"Yes, sir." Alfred made an intense stare into Gordon's eyes and held it just a fraction longer than was comfortable. Jim suddenly understood.

"Well, tell Rachel hello for me. Good night." Jim stepped back as Alfred shut the door and headed to his vehicle. He had a direct line to Batman's cell and he immediately made a call....

"Good job, Alfred. Now, come here," ordered Dent. "Take this, and bind the clown's hands behind his back. Nice and _tight. _I'm watching, remember." He gestured threateningly with the gun, then handed over a roll of duct tape.

Alfred apologetically took the Joker's useless right arm and, gently as possible, pulled it behind his back. Only Alfred heard the grunt of pain from low in Jack's throat. Alfred taped the wounded man's wrists together, then straightened up.

Harvey pulled another chair away from a table and motioned for Alfred to take a seat. He then took the tape and bound Alfred to the chair, wrapping the tape around his shoulders with his hands behind him, all the way down to his hips, just as Rachel was bound. He regarded the tableaux with satisfaction.

"Now...isn't this nice? The guests of honor in their places, and a wonderful audience to boot. I like that...tell me, Alfred, who're you rooting for? The Joker wasn't very nice to you, was he? Well, don't worry, while we're at it, I'll make sure he regrets _that_, as well...."

With that, Dent strode over and yanked the Joker to his feet. He slammed him hard against the wall, making sure his wounded shoulder was the first point of contact. He took a moment to stare with his one good eye into the Joker's dark brown ones, looking for fear, for pain, for desperation. He only saw his own madness reflected back at him. He pressed the gun into Jack's neck and pulled back on the hammer.

"No, Harvey, please..." begged Rachel. "Listen, I'm _sorry_! I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you--you were a good man, and you're right, we _were_ happy together, you and I! I was stupid...I threw everything away, I don't know why I did it, Harvey, I must have been crazy! Please, forgive me, give me another chance, ok? Give me a chance to make it up to you...." Rachel knew she was babbling, she was trying to distract Harvey just as Jack had earlier, and it seemed to work for a moment.

Harvey paused.

"Gee, Rach--are you offering yourself to me? The clown freak was right, you _are _a slut....Well, let's see how this goes, shall we? There might be time for a little romantic interlude after all, once I get your hubby subdued enough so that he can enjoy watching the proceedings...."

Harvey gave a sickening laugh then punched Jack hard in the gut, and brought his knee up, meeting Jack's face with a hard blow as he doubled over. He hit his victim over the back of his head with the butt of the gun. Stunned, Jack slumped down on one knee, fighting to stay upright. Harvey proceeded to viciously beat him, using the gun handle and alternating with his fist as Rachel watched, silently sobbing.

Alfred, a military man who was no stranger to brutality, wished he could say something to divert the madman from his violent task, but realized sadly that the longer the insane man was occupied in this fashion, the less likely he was to turn his rage onto Rachel.

Feeling broken, Rachel realized the same thing. Had it not been for the baby inside her, she would have tried every word and phrase she could think of to bring Harvey's attention away from the man she loved, but she couldn't risk putting their child in even further danger....

The Joker was on his knees, and he slowly raised his head to look up at his tormentor, one eye already swollen nearly shut. To both Alfred and Harvey's shock, a low laugh suddenly crept from the brutally beaten man's throat, growing in volume with every blow.

"What the hell're you laughing at, clown?" Harvey suddenly demanded, almost screaming in frustration as he held Jack's head up by the hair. _How could he laugh? How DARE he laugh!_

"Aw, I'm laughing at _you, _Two-Face! You're such a pathetic little fellow, you wanna know why?" Rachel watched Jack, realizing that he was long gone and the Joker was definitely in his place.

"I want you to shut _up," _snarled Dent as he administered another blow to Jack's already battered face. This simply elicited another round of maniacal laughter.

"Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway...it's because you're trying _so hard _to make me _feel..._what?...fear? Pain? Guess what, pal, it can't be done! Don't you get it, Harvey? I don't feel _anything_...and nothing _you_ can do is going to change that," the Joker taunted triumphantly, a trickle of blood trailing down his chin.

"Oh, really?" Harvey sneered as he stepped back and raised the gun toward Rachel, who screamed. In the split second before Harvey pulled the trigger, Jack propelled himself forward from his crumpled position like a juggernaut, head-butting the gunman square in the groin with all his might, diverting the course of the bullet into a harmless upward trajectory and causing Dent to double over in pain.

With superhuman effort, Jack rose to his feet, and delivered a vicious kick to Dent's maimed head, followed by another, and another, and yet another, until Harvey was lying face-down and motionless. Jack kicked the gun out of his hand and across the room, then limped over to Alfred, bound in the chair.

"I've got a knife in my right pocket, try to get it out," Jack demanded of the butler as he crouched as close to Alfred's hands as possible.

Alfred was able to wiggle his right hand out between the strips of tape and thrust it into Jack's pocket, where he found the knife. Working blind, he managed to free his other hand as well, and opened the knife so that the blade pointed outward and between the two of them, Jack was able to cut through the tape binding his wrists with only a few minor cuts to his flesh. As soon as he was freed, he took the knife in his left hand and cut through the tape binding Alfred. He then made his way as quickly as possible to Rachel, who had tears running down her face. He freed her and she threw her arms around him.

The Joker pulled away; the look in his eyes frightened her almost more than anything else that had happened that evening.

"Jack...it's going to be ok...I didn't mean anything I said, you know that...." she pleaded urgently. But he turned away from her and worked his way over to Dent. He dropped to his knees next to the fallen man.

Rachel stood up and watched numbly as the Joker, using his one good hand, positioned the knife low on Harvey's neck. It was clear that it was his intention to drag the blade deeply from one ear to the other, and Rachel had no doubt he would come close to slicing the DA's head off. She found herself desperately screaming as she fumbled her way to his side.

"NO, JACK! PLEASE DON'T DO IT!!"

The Joker raised the knife and pointed it at Rachel, cocked his head quizzically and looked into her eyes.

"What's the matter, babe?" he asked, his voice eerily soft. "You still got feelings for 'im? You reeeally got a thing for freaks, don't ya? Well, sorry, this one's out of the picture--permanently--as...of..._now...."_

He was just about to replace the dagger against the man's throat when a dark figure entered the room.

"Jack...don't," Batman cautioned. Alfred had met him in the kitchen and given him a bare-bones rundown on the situation in the living room. The Bat now knew where the danger lay.

The Joker twisted painfully to see the intruder, then casually swept his hand to his other side so as to threaten the caped man with the dagger's glinting point.

"Come on, Bats, don't spoil my fun," the Joker intoned flatly as he licked at a bloody stain above his swollen upper lip. "Ol' Harvey and I have been playing this game for a long time. Now that he's down, seems only fair I should get to win...." He deftly flipped the knife back into a downward angle and lifted it high above his head, preparing to plunge it into the body below him, but Batman was by his side in a shot and fluidly grabbed his arm in one strong hand and wrapped the other around the clown's waist to restrain him.

He spoke in a low, urgent growl that only Jack could hear.

_"No_, Jack. Look what you did. _You saved Rachel_. You saved your baby. You took him down--you've _already_ won. If you kill him now, it won't be self-defense anymore and there's nothing anyone can do to help you. You won't be able to be with your family, you won't be able to go home....Please, Jack. Let him go. Jim will take it from here." From behind the caped man stepped Jim Gordon, handcuffs in hand.

"It's all right Jack, Harvey's not going to hurt your family anymore," said Jim as he knelt cautiously and placed the cuffs on the unconscious man, taking care to keep an eye on the clown's knife. "You did well. Now, go to your wife, and let's get some medical attention for you."

The Bat's strong grasp combined with the calm voices seemed to penetrate Jack's clouded brain and after a moment's hesitation, he allowed Batman to take the knife from his hand. With the dagger gone, Jack suddenly seemed to come to himself.

"Where's Jake?" he anxiously blurted out, his voice raw. Rachel came to stand next to him, equally anxious for the answer.

"He's in good hands," assured Bruce. "I'll go pick him up as soon as everything's under control here."

Rachel placed her hand on Jack's good arm and he turned to her. They stared at each other for a long moment, then he said gently in his normal voice, "You ok, babe?" He sounded like a man just awakened from a nightmare.

Rachel nodded slowly. "Yeah...you?"

"Yeeeahhh...I think I need my meds," he said in a slightly puzzled tone.

"Oh, baby. I'll go get them. Sit down, you've lost a lot of blood." The wounded man allowed himself to be led to the couch and Alfred began applying pressure to the wound with a towel he had retrieved from the kitchen.

Bruce was on the phone, arranging for a particular doctor he knew to come to the house and give Jack proper care.

"Perhaps it would be best to move into another part of the house while the Commissioner deals with Mr. Dent," suggested Alfred.

"Good idea," agreed Bats. He and Alfred helped Jack up and the three made their way slowly up to the guest bedroom. Rachel followed, and Jim stayed downstairs to arrange a special ride for Harvey Dent, straight to Arkham for a discreet evaluation.

As soon as they got Jack settled on the bed, Rachel took care to gently remove his greasepaint from his battered face before the doctor arrived. Jack smiled brokenly at her, raising his good arm to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"You're so damn beautiful...you're my precious li'l angel, aren't ya? My precious li'l angel girl...." Jack rasped groggily as Rachel carefully wiped away the last of the thick white makeup.

"Yes, sweetie, that's me. We belong to each other, don't we?"

"Mmm-hmm. My angel girl...."

"Rest, Jack, don't talk...I love you."

"Hey...yeah, me too....love you....Always...love you...."

"Ok, baby, here's the doctor, he's going to take care of you...."

"Don't go...!" Jack croaked painfully, suddenly agitated.

"I'll be right here, sweetheart, don't worry--I'm not going anywhere...." Rachel assured him, pressing her lips against an uninjured spot on his forehead.

* * *

Bruce had retreated to his own room and hastily changed into civilian clothes and headed downstairs, just in time to help Jim and his officer get Harvey loaded into a vehicle, and to then let in the just-arrived doctor, an old friend of Bruce's who he could count on for his discretion.

"Thank you, Stan, I know this isn't your favorite situation to be thrust into...."

"After everything you've done for me, Bruce, I have no problem helping you out, even if it is a bit off the radar," the older man assured him. "Just don't tell me anything I don't need to know." They headed upstairs to take care of the patient.

The doctor examined Jack carefully and announced that while it looked bad, no major arteries had been severed, the blood loss was relatively minor, and the bone had a clean break rather than being shattered. He gave Jack a sedative and set the bone, then cleaned and bandaged the wound. He left a generous supply of antibiotics and painkillers and showed Rachel and Alfred how to change the dressing on the injury, as well as explaining what signs to watch for in case the wound became infected.

"I'm more concerned that he might have a concussion than about the gunshot. This would be much better handled in a hospital, Bruce," said the doctor disapprovingly.

"Well, that's not really an option," he replied.

"All right. That's the best I can do. As far as his shoulder goes, he should be fine, he was extremely lucky. Just a little lower and his lung would have been penetrated."

"Thank you, doctor," said Rachel gratefully. She was sitting in a chair next to the bed where Jack lay unconscious, holding on to his good hand.

"Certainly, Mrs....?"

"Smith," Bruce hastily interjected.

"Smith, right." The doctor rolled his eyes. Bruce walked him downstairs to the exit.

"It's a good thing I know that the Joker died in a vehicle fire on his way to Arkham a couple of years ago, otherwise I might wonder who that fellow upstairs with the scars really is...." said the good doctor softly.

"Yes...that _is_ a good thing," agreed Bruce with a wry grin.

He waved as the man drove away, then called to Alfred.

"I have an errand to run--are you going to be ok?"

"Nothing a nice snifter of brandy and a couple of tranquilizers won't cure, sir."

"All right. Try to take it easy until I get back, will you?"

"Yes, sir. I have great hopes that all the excitement's over with for a little while, eh?"

"Yeah, I hope so, Alfred."

With that, Bruce made his way to the garage and got in his car.

He had to relieve a very tired babysitter of his charge.


	29. How Do You Feel?

**A/N: All right! Very close to the end. After this, just one more chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

**Reeniecat**

*** * ***

Bruce stood silently in the doorway, watching Rachel tend to her husband. One hand was holding his on his uninjured side and she used the other to tenderly smooth strands of greasy green hair away from his face. Bruce couldn't make out the words, but she was murmuring something comforting to the unconscious man. She looked up as Bruce made a soft "ahem" to get her attention. She then gazed back at Jack with a smile.

"I can't wait to get his hair washed. I don't know what this green crap is, but it feels disgusting," she quipped ruefully as she stroked Jack's temple gently, pushing the lank hair behind his ear.

"Mm. Is he asleep or...."

"Pain meds. But the doctor wants us to monitor him because of his head injuries, so he's not very heavily sedated. He'll wake up if disturbed."

"I see. Well, I was about to go get Jacob...."

"Thank you, Bruce...." Rachel turned from Jack to give Bruce a grateful smile. "I haven't had a chance to tell you--everything you've done for me, for us--I'm just so overwhelmed with gratitude I can't even...."

"That's ok, you don't have to say anything. Anyway, this whole disaster was my fault, I was the one who dragged you back here...."

"Well, everything made sense at the time. And...I know how you feel about Jack. It must have been hard for you to...for you to...." Rachel felt tears welling up in her throat. She knew Bruce Wayne very well, and appreciated how difficult dealing with Jack in a civilized manner must have been; she knew he had done it for _her_.

Bruce made a dismissive gesture and shook his head.

"I'd rather not think about that right now, sweetie. I did want to ask you something, though--what do you want me to tell Jake if he asks where his dad is? How much do you want him to know?"

Rachel sighed heavily; that very question had been eating at her ever since they loaded Harvey into the police cruiser. She didn't want to demonize Harvey. But what other simple explanation was there to give a three-year-old to explain the kind of injuries Jack had sustained at the hands of a madman other than "a bad man tried to hurt your mom and dad"? What was there to say when he saw Jack's battered face and was told he couldn't hug and jump on his father because he'd been _shot? _When he wanted to know why Daddy couldn't speak to him because he had to stay asleep? Rachel looked sadly up at Bruce.

"Just tell him...tell him that Daddy got hurt and has to stay in bed for a while, but that he's going to be ok; tell him Mommy will explain everything when he gets home."

Bruce nodded. He went to Rachel's side and kissed her on top of her head.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I know you can't wait to see the little guy."

Rachel smiled. "Gee, Bruce, maybe now that you've spent some time with Jake you'll get some ideas about having a family yourself...." she said teasingly.

Bruce smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. The only woman he would have gotten ideas like that about was married to the Joker.

* * *

Bruce tapped at Lucius' door; the older man answered after a few minutes with a harried expression on his face. Bruce could hear the muffled sounds of a child crying.

"Thank God you're here!" rasped Lucius irritably.

"What's wrong?" asked Bruce worriedly, hastily scanning the room for signs of blood, smoke, bodies or God knew what else....

"We can't find Mr. Canaday."

"You..._what?" _Bruce asked, perplexed. He had no idea who Mr. Canaday could be.

"My cat. My cat, Mr. Canaday. Jake was 'playing circus' with him for a while, which does not sit well with a fourteen year old cat by the way, but he was very patient nonetheless. However, when Jacob went to do something else, Mr. C very wisely hid himself somewhere, and now we can't find him. The child is absolutely inconsolable. You've got to do something, Bruce, I'm at the end of my rope...."

Bruce followed the wailing sound to Lucius' bedroom where two small bare feet were sticking out from under the bed and the crying became very, very audible.

"Jake...I came to take you back to my house. Your mom and dad are waiting for you...Jake?" Bruce said gingerly. The little legs began working at propelling the child out from under the bed and soon the rest of Jacob emerged.

His tear-streaked face was red and his dark eyes appeared to have the most dreadful wisdom as he picked himself up and ran to Bruce.

"Uncle Bruce, we can't find the kitty!!" he sobbed.

"Aw, it's ok, he's around here somewhere...he was probably tired and wanted to take a nap...." Bruce consoled him.

"But I wanted to pet him...."

"I know, I know." Bruce scooped him up, patting the mop of blond curls as the child rested his head on Bruce's shoulder in absolute defeat. Bruce didn't know a lot about kids but he could tell Jake was completely exhausted. "I tell you what...why don't we tell Mr. Fox thank you for everything, and I'll get you home to your mom...won't that be nice?" asked Bruce hopefully.

"But I wanna see the kitty...wanna say 'bye...." mourned Jacob.

Lucius saw a flash of orange zip out of his bedroom closet and was faced with a moral dilemma; after a few moments of consideration, he sighed and found his cat warily snacking on dry food in the kitchen.

"Sorry, old man, it's time to serve a higher purpose...." He scooped up the cranky feline and carried him back to Jacob.

"KITTY!!" the little boy exclaimed joyously, and Lucius held the cat firmly while Jacob gave him an over-enthusiastic hug. Mr. C meowed piteously, and Lucius took the opportunity to say, "I think Mr. C needs some quiet time, now. Tell him goodbye, ok, Jake?"

"'Bye, Mr. C...." Jacob said softly into the animal's ear, and the three humans left the cat shut in the room with peaceful well-earned solitude.

Bruce carried the child into Lucius' living room and turned to thank him. It was only then that he had the opportunity to survey the scene...couch pillows piled on the floor, expensive graph paper and water colors strewn over the coffee table (along with a number of child-like drawings), and, beyond, the kitchen was a small disaster area, with bowls and flour and measuring cups covering the normally pristine counter.

Lucius followed Bruce's gaze and made a harrumphing sound.

"The boy assured me that he knew all about how to make cookies on his own...."

"Oh, good Lord, and you _believed_ him?" Bruce asked, finding himself snickering at the thought of the brilliant man falling for Jake's assurances of baking competency.

"Mr. Wayne, I haven't been in the company of a human being under the age of twenty-seven for the last thirty years, how the HELL am I supposed to know what a three year old child is capable of? And, here's another thing, do you know what that boy did to my architectural rendering supplies?"

"Looks like he produced some art...."

"Oh, well, actually, those are mine, here's his...." Lucius handed Bruce a stack of lovely, perfectly recognizable free-hand portraits of Jake's parents, his dog, and the house in Mexico. Bruce gave his employee a smirk of amusement.

"You'll find full replacements on your desk Monday morning."

"That's fine. And how about an explanation along with them?"

"I'll see what I can do." Bruce clapped his free hand on Lucius' shoulder in thanks, turned, and with Jacob sleepily waving a small hand in farewell, headed out the door.

Lucius waggled a couple of fingers back at the child, realized with a start that he was smiling fondly at him and shook off the momentary lapse of his stoic formidability. Instead, he took a deep, relieved breath and turned back to assess the damage done to his apartment. Taking in the full impact of the havoc wrought by the lively preschooler, Lucius mused--Mr. Wayne had asked some outrageous things of him, and he had always been happy and willing to comply, but if his employer EVER asked him to baby-sit again, he would turn in his resignation and he most assuredly would NOT be giving two weeks' notice.

Well, unless it was for Jacob. And, for just a little while.

Then, he might reconsider.

* * *

Rachel was dozing uncomfortably in a living room easy chair when the front door crashed open and her little boy came tearing in. She startled awake just in time to protect her pregnant tummy from a full-on assault by a three-year-old juggernaut, and she wrapped her arms around Jacob and pulled him onto her lap--what there was of it--in a tight hug. Bruce was standing in the door smiling at the reunion. "Where's Alfred?" he asked, glancing around. He was still concerned for the older man's well-being after his having been tasered.

"He volunteered to stay with Jack while I took a break," Rachel answered, brushing her lips across Jacob's forehead.

"Oh. And how _is_ 'His Honor'?" asked Bruce dryly.

Rachel shot him a glance, and said, "So far, so good."

"Where's Daddy?" Jacob piped up eagerly.

Rachel's grin faded and she set the child back on his feet.

"Sweetie--Daddy's upstairs in bed."

"But it's morning! I wanna see him...."

"Ok, ok, but listen. Something happened...." The tone in Rachel's voice stopped the lad from wriggling out of her grasp to zip upstairs to find his father, and Jacob looked into his mother's blue eyes inquisitively.

"What happened, Mommy?" he asked quietly.

"Daddy...Daddy got hurt, son."

"Hurt? What hurt 'im?"

"Well...a lot of bad things happened last night. You got taken, Alfred got knocked down, and someone...someone tried to hurt Mommy. But Daddy stopped the bad things from happening. And when he did, he got...shot."

"Shot?" The boy's brown eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. _"Cool!" _he exclaimed in admiration. Rachel smiled wryly.

"Well, honey, it's not exactly _cool, _his shoulder is really hurt, and he's got a lot of ouch-y places on his face. In fact, he might look a little bit scary to you because he has bruises and his eye is swollen."

"I wanna SEE him!!" Jacob was squirming out of Rachel's arms, determined to see what the effects of being shot looked like on his father.

"Hold on there, big guy, your mom wasn't finished, right Rachel?" Bruce admonished gently.

"Right. Jacob, you can_not_ jump on your father."

"Awww!!"

"And, you have to be super-quiet. He needs to sleep a lot so he can get better. So, when we go up to see him, you have to be very soft and gentle with him."

"Awww...."

"And don't jump on him!"

"Ok."

"And no yelling...."

"Ok!!"

"And don't JUMP on him!"

"O-_k!!"_

Rachel stared meaningfully into her rambunctious son's beautiful eyes and steeled herself for the trip upstairs. She cast a somewhat pleading look at Bruce, who caught it and nodded.

"How about we all go up together?" he asked.

"Ok!" Jacob agreed, taking Rachel's hand and pulling her until she stood up. She painfully leaned back to stretch and followed the other two up the stairs.

Bruce got to the guest room first and stepped in to check on the situation. Alfred was calmly reading the paper, and Jack still appeared to be out. Bruce whispered loudly, "Jake's here--he can't wait to see his dad--I may need reinforcements to keep him from tearing out the patient's stitches...." Alfred nodded and stood, prepared to deflect any small flying bodies that might hurl themselves toward the bed.

But Jacob entered quietly, holding his mother's hand. He looked at the battered, green-haired man on the bed and much to everyone's surprise, tears began to stream down his chubby cheeks.

"Daddy...." he gasped sadly.

The small voice penetrated the fog of Jack's brain and he turned his head, fighting to open his eyes. One was swollen shut, but the other opened with some effort. Hazily, he made out the small form of his little boy. He tried to smile.

"Jakey...hey, bud...come'ere..." he rasped as he shakily raised his good hand toward the child. Jake stood stock still, his brows knitted with uncertainty.

"It's ok, baby. Go see Daddy," urged Rachel. Jake looked back at her then took a few tentative steps toward his father. He stopped again, and shook his head, then ran back to Rachel.

"I'm scared," he whispered to her. "That doesn't look like Daddy...."

Jack groaned painfully, trying to sit up. Alfred hastily prevented him, admonishing him to lay still. "I want to see my kid, lemme up," he protested weakly. "Now, Jack, you're only going to set back your recovery, you won't be able to play with your son for an even longer time. Please lay back and stay still...." said Alfred in a firm voice.

Rachel took Jake's hand and knelt next to him.

"Remember I told you that Daddy got shot? You want to see his bandage?" she asked hopefully. The small boy nodded seriously. She went to Jack's injured side and gently pulled the covers away from his shoulder, revealing the protective white gauze covering the wound. Rachel bent down to kiss Jack's cheek and whispered, "He's just a little scared, sweetie. Can you talk to him? Just...talk to him."

Jack cleared his throat and asked for water; then he spoke in a low voice to his son.

"Hey, kiddo, Dad really got it good, didn't he? Come take a look at this, it's pretty cool...."

Jacob wrestled with himself, torn between fear of his father's unfamiliar appearance and his passionate desire to see a real bullet wound; he hesitantly scooted up closer to examine the bandage and Jack painfully pulled the sticky tape off to show him the actual injury. Jake's eyes grew large and he gasped "Whoaaa!" in deep appreciation of the gory sight. "That's _cool_, Daddy, does it hurt?"

"Oh, yeah! Hurts real bad...and see this?" he asked, pointing to his swollen eye, "This burns like a motherfu--"

"JACK!!" Rachel hastily interjected.

"Uh...yeah, that hurts, too."

"Poor Daddy," Jacob stroked his father's arm sympathetically.

"Aw, I'll be ok. Dad's a real tough old guy, right?"

"Right!"

"Yeah...so, you just leave me up here in cold storage for a little while, then I'll be up and around before you know it! Ok?"

"Ok, Daddy. Mommy, I'm hungry...."

Crisis over, Alfred offered to take care of Jake for a while, and the pair headed down to the kitchen.

Jack settled back into the bed, exhausted from his efforts, but happy that he and Jacob were back to their normal loving relationship. Rachel changed his bandages and congratulated him on his well-played and successful overture to Jake. She watched him shift uncomfortably and decided to try to keep his mind off the pain.

"So--how does it feel to be a hero for a change?" she asked teasingly.

"Doesn't take much to impress a kid, just need a couple of holes opened up in your body by cold steel...."

"I didn't mean _that. _I meant, how does it feel knowing you saved your wife and unborn child without taking a life?" she asked, now serious.

"Shitty. Ya shoulda let me gut him...."

"Oh, why do I bother...." Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Now, THAT would have impressed Jake...."

"Forget it! I was trying to reinforce positive behavior, but never mind...."

Jack wasn't up to extended verbal parrying with his wife at the moment and he lay quietly, contemplating her beautiful features, wishing they were back in Mexico and that things were back to normal.

"Hey, gorgeous...when do we get to go home?" Jack asked, now serious himself.

"You have to become a little more ambulatory."

"Are you kidding? I could haul this entire crew, including Bat-boy, out of here right this minute if it would get us the hell out of Gotham...."

"Very ambitious, my love, but you're to stay still for at least two more days."

"Bleahhh...." Jack made a derisive sound and tiredly flung his good arm over his eyes, forgetting his injuries, and Rachel heard a small "ow", which made her grin.

"Not as tough as you think you are, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Sleep now. Maybe you'll be up for some lunch in a little while."

"Whatever."

Rachel kissed her balky husband and went to sit down, her feet aching and little shots of pain emanating from her lower back into her legs. She groaned as she settled in, and Jack shot a questioning look at her from his good eye.

"Whatsa matter?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. I'm pregnant, remember, Daddy-O? My back's killing me. At this point, you're lucky I'm not siphoning off your pain meds by the handful...."

"That's all? Normal 'Boo-hoo, I'm a knocked-up broad' type stuff?"

"Uh-huh. I'm just going to take a little nap, myself, if you don't mind...."

"Sure, doll. Good idea."

"Call me if you need anything," Rachel reminded him as she snuggled up with a soft pillow in her arms.

" 'k. Can't you come over here, though?" he entreated, patting the bed beside him invitingly.

"You'll rest better without someone jostling you, won't you?" she asked.

"I won't rest at all without you next to me...." he said firmly.

Rachel grinned.

"Aww! And you say you're not romantic...." She pulled herself to her feet and gingerly crawled onto the bed with Jack. He pulled her close to him, and the two were soon deep in much-needed slumber, and the whole house seemed to relax itself for the first time since the Joker set foot in it.

* * *

Jack was having a wonderful dream. Rachel had had the baby, and was back to her old self; they were happily making out on the beach at twilight, and they began passionately making love; the pleasure was so real that he was awakened by the pressure of his straining erection against the constricting fabric of his trousers, all of which was in direct counterpoint to the burning, shooting pain coming from his collarbone. Plus, he had to pee.

He lay there, a mass of conflicting sensations, and decided the most urgent issue was the need to relieve his bladder; but Rachel was on his uninjured side, so he couldn't easily swing his legs over that side of the bed. He couldn't work around his shoulder without risking further injury to the healing bone; he didn't much care about the pain, but he really wanted to have full use of his arm again at some point, so that was out. And, he couldn't manage to propel himself forward because of his erection.

Jack considered waking Rachel up and getting her to help him, but he really wanted her to rest. Reluctantly, he punched the button on the intercom remote Alfred had given him. He also hated to bother the older gentlemen since he'd been so nice to Jake, but there just wasn't any help for it.

That button brought no answer, so he gave another one a push. After a moment, a growl of a voice came over the 'com.

"Yes?"

A slow grin crossed Jack's bruised lips. Oh, boy, this was going to be fun.

"Oh, hey, Bat-dude, listen, what are you doing?"

"I'm working. What do you need?" he asked gruffly.

"Ah...I need a little help, could you come up and give me a...hand?" he smirked cheerfully.

Silence. Bruce cast a glance into the den from his office; Alfred and Jacob had succumbed to a nap while watching cartoons together. He didn't want to disturb them.

"Can't Rachel help you?"

"She's asleep! And anyway, I don't want her helping me up in her condition--what if I fell on her or something?"

Silence again. Then, a resigned sigh.

"I'll be right there."

Bruce tromped up the stairs to the guest room, opened the door, and went to stand by the bed to help Jack to his feet. It was actually quite a challenge, given his injury and the angle they were working at, and Bruce almost had to pick up the slighter man to get him in a sitting position with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Jack managed to stand from there, but he was woozy; he almost fell, and Bruce had to put an arm around his waist and help him make it to the bathroom.

Jack's bad arm was taped to his side and he stood in front of the toilet, struggling to take down his fly with one hand. The zipper was unyielding. He gave a beseeching look to Bruce.

"Um--little help, here?" he asked.

"You have _got _to be kidding."

"I never had to do this one handed before, and things are a bit, uh, _time-sensitive _by now. Just, you know, kind of hold the waistband for me and I'll get the zipper...."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked.

"Do you want me to hold your dick for you, too?" he growled irritably.

Jack cast a sly grin at his nemesis and snickered.

"You just can't get over me, can you, Brucey? Listen, if Rachel ever kicks my ass out, I'll give ya a call, but until then, sorry! I'm a married man, you know?"

"I really wish you weren't already hurt, because I would love to put you in a full body cast...."

Jack laughed appreciatively and Bruce stepped out to let the patient take care of business in private. He managed to adjust his clothes and wash up on his own, but as he pivoted from the sink to the door, dizziness and then a blackout overtook him and he fell against the doorframe and slumped to the floor.

"Oh, God, are you ok?" Bruce asked, hastening to help him up. The man was out cold.

"Damn it...." the bigger man swore. There was nothing to be done but...he picked up his old enemy and carried him to the bed. Rachel was now groggily awake and staring in trepidation at the sight of Bruce depositing her unconscious mate on the mattress beside her.

"What the heck happened?" she asked, worried.

"I don't know! He passed out in the bathroom and I couldn't wake him up. What's the matter with him, do you think?"

"The doctor was worried about his head injuries...he's been hit in the head a _lot. _Well, _you_ would know...." Rachel cast a sarcastic glance at Bruce.

Jack began to come to and groaned. He looked around and asked, "What happened?" while rubbing his head.

"You conked out, sweetie. How do you feel?" asked Rachel.

He shrugged on his good side. Everything hurt, but otherwise he felt fine....

"I think I just moved too fast, got dizzy...I'm ok."

"Maybe I should get the doctor to come have another look at you," said Bruce, begrudgingly reaching for the phone.

"Naw, don't bother. I'm fine."

"He said to call if anything odd happened...."

"Me passing out isn't odd..." said Jack.

"Yes, it is! I'll call him."

"NO, I don't want to talk to some quack just 'cause I blacked out for a second, it's no big deal...."

_"Quack? _Listen, pal, Stan Marx is one of the finest general practitioners in Gotham, he was doing me a HUGE favor by treating you. You're just lucky I didn't dig up some med-school reject from your old mob buddies' organization to patch you up with Super Glue and duct tape..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, let me tell you something, those guys know their way around a gunshot wound, plus--unlimited supplies of horse tranquilizers!"

"Are you seriously suggesting that I should have called...."

"I'm just sayin'!"

"Boys, boys...." Rachel was now standing next to the bed, one hand on her lower back and the other pressed low on her tummy. Both men stopped their exchange to look at her.

"Bruce...do you think Dr. Marx knows anything about obstetrics?" she asked queasily.

"Yes, I'm sure he does...why?" Bruce asked uneasily.

"Because...I think the baby's coming," Rachel replied, glancing downward. "My water just broke."

With his good hand, Jack threateningly brandished the handset of the phone in Bruce's face.

"Call the goddamn doctor--_now,"_ he ordered.


	30. Going Home

**A/N: Ok, here we are at the last chapter, and it's a long one! Hope you don't mind...anyway, I'm kind of sad to end it, but I think it was time. PLEASE, please review even if just a few words to let me know what you think! I've enjoyed writing this and reading all your comments, and thank you so very much for reading!!**

**Reeniecat**

* * *

Jack dragged himself off of the bed and painfully made his way to the easy chair, where he collapsed with a pathetic groan. His brain felt like mush, and his body ached, his injuries burning and throbbing as if a hundred-car freight train had run him over, then backed up and done it again--_slowly_. He had never been so exhausted, and every still-functioning synapse in his mind told him the fun was not over yet, not by a long shot.

Rachel was perched on the edge of the bed, feeling flushed and buzzed at the realization that her baby would, hopefully, be born soon. Vague pangs of weak contractions prickled her lower back from time to time, and a constant sense of pressure in her pelvic area let her know that the fetus had shifted its position to low in the birth canal in preparation for its journey into the world.

She was uncomfortably aware that Jack was now peering at her with his one good eye, clearly worried and, she suspected, reaching new heights of stress over what might happen next--on top of everything else he had just gone through. She put her cool hand on his cheek and lightly traced the path of one of his scars down to his mouth, playfully pinching his scarred bottom lip before leaning forward to kiss him. Annoyed, Jack pulled his head away from her and hissed, _"Lie down!" _as he attempted to work his body into a less painful posture.

The expectant mom shot him a mischievous grin.

"Now, that's a tempting offer, handsome, especially with the dirty hair and smudges of leftover makeup around your mouth. And they _do _say orgasms bring on labor faster. But, I have to say, you don't look like you'd be up to your usual level of performance, and it might get awfully messy here on Bruce's clean sheets, and besides my--"

"I _love_ funny women. Makes me want to put a permanent smile on their face. Now, lie the fuck _down _and have this damn baby before I pass out again...." Jack snarled irritably.

Rachel shook her head and stood up, pressing her hands into the small of her back.

"I don't want to lie down just yet, sweetie...I'm kind of antsy, I feel like I should walk around while I can," she explained simply.

Jack gave her a stern look, and gestured at the bed.

"No, _no_, your water broke, you could get a, whattya call it, an _infection..._that's what it said in that book...."

Rachel's smile deepened; sometime during her sixth month of pregnancy, Jack had suddenly taken a rabid interest in the whole gestation-to-birth process, and he'd spent quite a bit of time with an expression of horrified fascination on his face as he studied various books on the subject. He had a stack with everything from "What to Expect When You're Expecting" to stomach-turning medical texts on abnormal births, and Rachel had frequently found herself the subject of inexpert poking, prodding and puzzled frowns. At one point she was genuinely afraid that Jack would demand to deliver the baby himself, one hand holding a textbook, the other inside her, attempting to judge her level of dilation.

And now it occurred to her that if Bruce couldn't contact Dr. Marx, it might come to that, not that Jack was in any shape to deliver a baby. She wondered if Alfred had any experience in that department....

"Jack...please stop staring at me like that. You're making me feel like a science experiment gone wrong...."

That brought a lop-sided grin to Jack's battered face and he ran his tongue around his bruised lips in lascivious amusement.

"Well, yeah, sugar! I filled up the ol' petri dish about eight months ago, you think I'm not curious to see what incubated?"

Rachel gave a deadpan quirk of her eyebrow.

"Well, we got Jacob the first time, I'm hoping for something similar--or do you know something I don't?"

"Nah, it'll be a baby. Gonna be a girl, though...."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?" Rachel asked, intrigued by his certainty.

"Just do."

Their speculation was cut short by Bruce, who briefly stuck his head in the room, cell phone in hand.

"The doc's coming, but it may be a while, he's on the other side of town...." he announced grimly.

"Oh, God," breathed Rachel in dismay. The stab of a serious contraction suddenly struck her lower back and she winced as she dug around in the nightstand for a pen and piece of paper.

"What're you doing?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"Contraction. We have to keep track, remember?"

Jack brightened and nodded with a studious expression. "I wanna, I wanna do it," he demanded, taking the pen and paper from her. Rachel allowed him to do so, realizing how much he wanted to participate in this experience. He again reminded her to lie down, and this time she obeyed. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, she thought as she closed her eyes. She was suddenly exhausted.

Almost two hours passed. Rachel's contractions were erratic; sometimes strong, sometimes weak, and without a discernable pattern. Her body itself was weak, just barely recovered from the stress of surviving Harvey's insane attack on herself and her family. And now, going into the hard physical demands of labor, she was having trouble finding the strength to face it, especially without the comforting hubbub of a hospital environment.

"Don't be stupid, Rachel," she thought to herself. "This is your second child, and you're well-prepared for natural childbirth. Jacob's birth went flawlessly, there's no reason this one won't also...women have been having babies in jungles and fields for centuries, I ought to be able to make do with a damn penthouse...." Of course, it occurred to her, for centuries women have also been _dying_ while giving birth under primitive conditions, and the beauty of natural childbirth was supposed to be attended by Elena, a seasoned midwife, who was inconveniently back in Mexico. And, _this_ baby was close to a month early. She stubbornly pushed aside more such disturbing thoughts and tried to focus on her breathing.

As the minutes ticked away, Jack was becoming increasingly agitated, unable to stay seated. He was now hulking around the room in impatience and upon hearing footsteps in the hall, he stepped out and collared Bruce.

"Where the hell's that sawbones?" he hissed, supporting himself with his good arm against the wall.

"He's doing the best he can, Jack. Traffic's terrible. You need to calm down, everything will be all right."

"You don't know that. Something's not right. Rachel's not in enough _pain...."_

_"What?"_

"You know what I mean, the contractions aren't getting the job done. This is her second kid, it should be moving along faster...."

"Oh, you're such an expert...."

"I did my homework...I'm telling you, Wayne, something's _wrong." _He threateningly pointed a shaky finger in Bruce's face._ "_If my wife and kid are in trouble, _I blame you...."_

Bruce stared into the dark, angry eyes, thinking how feral the man appeared when he was like that, hunched in pain and tensed like a coiled spring. He looked dangerous, even without his makeup, and the billionaire was getting ready to bitterly spout a line in his own defense, but the words died on his lips. Damn it, the clown was right. Bruce had brought them all here, he'd known there was a chance of real danger, and now....

Bruce calmly put his hand on the Joker's uninjured shoulder.

"You're right. You're absolutely right. I...was so sure things would work out differently. I never meant for Rachel to be put in danger, I never meant for her to go through such a terrible ordeal...I'm..._sorry." _The two powerful men stared at each other like animals, one with barely contained fury, the other with raw sincerity and sorrow. Finally, Jack relented, took a deep breath and fixed Bruce with a disgusted sneer.

"Jeeze, you're such a goddamn 'good guy', I can't stand it. How'm I supposed to get my mind off my troubles if I can't beat the shit out of you?"

Bruce grinned.

"Well, not that that would happen on your _best_ day, but surely even you can see that you're at a bit of a disadvantage with all of _this _business," replied Bruce, indicating the bandages covering Jack's otherwise bare torso. "Maybe you should focus on doing something constructive instead."

A shadow passed over Jack's face.

"Like what? I can't do anything for her...I can't help her."

Bruce started to answer, but just then the elevator doors opened and Alfred stepped out, pushing a cart laden with various types of medical equipment, along with little Jake, importantly struggling with carrying a large leather doctor's bag, and Dr. Marx following behind with another bag of equipment. Jack straightened himself as best he could and took a deep breath.

"All right. Apology accepted. Let's just...let's just get this show on the road."

Bruce nodded as he went to greet Dr. Marx.

* * *

After Alfred and Bruce helped the doctor set up, and Jack and Rachel had had a bit of quiet time with their little boy, Alfred announced that it was time to go watch cartoons and to let the doctor see after Mom and the expected new arrival. Jacob whined reluctantly, not wanting to miss out on any potential baby action, but Jack spoke quietly to his son, and the little boy suddenly smiled, hugged his father, then cheerfully took Alfred's hand and willingly accompanied the older gentleman downstairs.

Rachel watched the exchange in amusement, and called Jack over to her.

"What in God's name did you say to him that he changed his mind so quickly?"

"I told him that after the baby was born, I'd take him up on the roof and we'd set off some fireworks."

Rachel gave him a frown of disapproval.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jack, that's dangerous, and probably illegal. Where would you even _get_ fireworks at this time of ye...oh. Never mind, I forgot who I was talking to," she quipped at Jack's sly grin. Rachel shook her head, realizing the man probably had enough explosives in his suitcase to set up an excellent Fourth of July display.

* * *

The doctor was at first determined that only Rachel's husband be allowed in the room while he performed the examination, but Bruce took him aside and said softly, "Jack's under a lot of pressure--I think I'd better stay nearby. Don't worry, I'll be out of the way." Dr. Marx cast a glance at the smoldering expression on the face of the man he knew to be the notorious Joker, and hastily nodded agreement.

Afterwards, the physician stood and cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid this isn't looking good. Rachel--you're only dilated to three. The contractions are not strong or regular. It's very likely you'll need a Caesarian section, and there is no way I could in good conscience perform that kind of surgery _here_, especially since the child is coming early. We need to get you to a hospital." The doctor made his firm announcement in a strong and slightly pompous voice, but inwardly he was trembling--it didn't take a genius to know that the Joker would not be happy about this development.

Indeed, the madman was at the doctor's side like a shot, and both Rachel and Bruce saw the glint of a shiny steel blade in his hand. Both froze for a moment as the Joker wrapped his good arm around the doctor's neck, pressing the knife to his throat before he growled into the physician's ear.

"I'll tell you what's not lookin' _good_, doc, YOUR_ life expectancy_...my wife's not going ANYWHERE, do you understand me?"

"B-b-but, _please! _I'm only trying to help...." squawked the doctor in a choked voice.

"_JACK! _What's the matter with you, LET HIM _GO!" _yelled Rachel.

Bruce strode over to Jack and was pleased to note that the blade was carefully being held flat against Dr. Marx's skin, showing that the Joker wasn't actually planning to harm the doctor, although inducing a heart attack in the stout, older gentleman certainly would be a problem in itself. Bruce put one hand on Jack's upper arm, the other on his hand and tried to pull him away. He discovered he had to use his full strength to get Jack to release his captive.

"This is NOT how we get the nice doctor, who is _working under the radar_, to _HELP_ us...." hissed Bruce between gritted teeth as the Joker's grasp was finally broken. Bruce hastily removed the knife from Jack's hand, and the clown shot him a grim look and slammed his now empty fist against the nightstand in frustration, startling the already aghast Rachel. She reached out her hand in an attempt to help him calm down, but it didn't have the desired effect.

"DAMN IT! I _knew_ it. I _knew_ something wasn't right. So, now you're telling me I'm going to miss _this_ kid coming into the world, too, huh? Great, just fucking great." He angrily strode over to the window, fighting with every ounce of self-control and stress-relief techniques he'd been taught in therapy over the last two years _not _to take yet another knife out of his pants pocket and apply it to the fucking doctor's belly, followed quickly by a quick jab into Bruce Wayne's throat.

_"Stop _it," Bruce gruffly commanded. He hastily went to Jack's side and spoke earnestly into the injured man's ear. "I _know_ this isn't what you wanted. I _know_ it's really important to you to see your child get born. But, without proper care, you could lose the baby AND Rachel--you've fought so hard to protect them, do you really want to take that chance?"

Jack turned from the window and to Bruce's shock, he saw there were tears in the clown's eyes, and his mouth was contorted with the effort of fighting to not cry. He caught a ragged breath before speaking hoarsely.

"I _don't _want to lose them. You're right, you're right...I just...this was going to be kind of...it was going to be like graduation day."

_"Huh?"_

"You know...my whole life's been fucked up. The few things I ever had that really mattered to me were always taken away. I've spent years trying to...to become the man Rachel wanted me to be. That _I _wanted to be. And, I thought..._finally_...I was seeing it all come together. A normal life, you know? Well, ha ha, _guess again." _He spoke bitterly and his voice cracked as he turned away from Bruce to gaze out the window once more.

"I guess I don't deserve it. I guess I never will...I just thought, you know...this baby...it was kind of my chance to...start over...." His voice was soft and Bruce wondered if he was still actually talking to _him. _"Take it from the top, a clean slate...I thought this kid...might not be touched by it...the crazy man, one step away from a straight jacket and padded cell...I thought _she'd_ be...free...."

Bruce glanced nervously back at the doctor and Rachel, who were deep in conversation themselves. He then awkwardly patted Jack's back.

"Look, guy...I feel for you. I do. But, things will work out. I've got a fake ID for Rachel, we'll get her checked in, she'll have the baby, we'll get her out, and all of you will go back home just as we planned...."

"Unless the kid's sick and has to stay in the hospital...unless something happens to Rachel...unless I lose it and you have to commit me...unless, unless, unless...." Jack put his hand over his face and Bruce realized he was again stifling a sob.

Bruce took a breath and rolled his eyes. This was still the man he would have loved to have had the opportunity to beat to a bloody pulp followed by a good hard kick straight into Arkham, but he couldn't help but be touched by the hint of raw humanity the Joker was brokenly allowing him to see. Girding himself, he slipped an arm around the bandaged shoulders and spoke again.

"Jack...you have to keep it together. _Please_ don't throw this away...now listen, give me every weapon you have on you. _Please."_

Bruce's words penetrated the Joker's distraught brain and he turned to look at him with a wry grin pulling at the corner of his scarred mouth.

"Aw...I wouldn't have done anything to the doc. I just wanted to get him thinking about _options_. I _hate_ fucking doctors, they always think they're the last damn word about everything...."

"I know, but still. Come on, I bet you've got enough cold steel in those trousers to outfit an army...."

"Ah, Bruce, always thinking about what's in my trousers...."

"Jesus, do NOT make me pat you down, I'd have to break your other arm...."

Jack's grin spread across his whole bruised face and he reluctantly began fishing additional weaponry from various places on his lower body and handing them to Bruce. When both of the billionaires hands were full of an assortment of knives, a small pistol, mace and some sort of incendiary device, Jack raised his hand in surrender. Then, an afterthought--he reached into the bandaged area on his torso and pulled out yet another knife.

"Ok, that's it. Swear it."

"I doubt that. But thanks for the effort." Bruce took the arsenal out of the room and called to Alfred to take it off his hands before returning to the aggrieved doctor and assuring him that things were now under control.

Rachel picked up where she had left off in her conversation with the doctor.

"So? Can't we do that?"

"It's most ill-advised...I cannot support the idea...."

"What's going on?" asked Bruce worriedly.

"I don't want to go to the hospital just yet," Rachel spoke in her firmest Assistant DA voice. "Dr. Marx said he could set me up with an IV, and give me pitocin...I want to try that before we give up...."

"What's pitocin?" asked Bruce delicately.

"A drug that brings on labor," Jack answered sourly, as he shambled back to Rachel's side. He knelt awkwardly next to the bed and took her face in his hand, staring earnestly into her eyes. Rachel felt the same tug of excitement she had felt the very first time she'd looked into those brown eyes, and realized he was finally in full control of his demons.

"And, what if it doesn't work, doll? You'll still have to go in, and we'll lose time. Besides, the kid's, whaddya call it, _premature_...might need some help or something...I don't like it, you need to go on to the hospital," Jack reluctantly pronounced.

"NO. The baby's strong, this is only a few weeks early. I'm getting my strength back. I don't...I don't want to have this baby without you...." Rachel stared up at Jack with tears about to brim over her lashes. Jack, stricken, leaned forward painfully and kissed her. He never failed to be amazed at the realization that this smart, strong, beautiful woman loved him. He felt as though he were coming out of a fog, and he now knew one thing for sure-- he had to let go of his natural selfishness and take care of her and his unborn child.

"No, kid. It'll be ok...I'll see her after she's born, it's no big deal! I'm not taking any chances on losing you two, see?" he said softly.

"Doctor, please. Don't we have some time before we absolutely _have_ to go?" beseeched Rachel.

"Well...let me see if you've made any progress...." The doctor checked Rachel again, and a look of surprise spread across his wrinkled face.

"Hmm. You're up to four, now. That's encouraging. The baby's heartbeat is excellent. Your blood pressure is good. I suppose the pitocin _might_ work...all right," he said, casting a sideways glance of wariness at Jack, "...let's give it a try." The doctor began setting up the IV equipment and Jack and Bruce watched, glancing at each other with a look of uncertainty.

Jack pulled himself to his feet and grabbed Bruce by his shirt collar and led him back out to the hallway. He turned to his reluctant host with his good arm outstretched in confusion and an expression of utter helplessness on his face.

"What should I _do? _Make her go? Let her stay? What would _you _do?" he asked in bewilderment. Jack's ability to "do the right thing" in the face of his wife's stubbornness was easily derailed and he knew he needed reinforcements.

"Well...since the baby seems to be doing fine, I guess it's ok to try this," said Bruce thoughtfully. "The doctor will make the call if things don't improve...we're not far from a hospital, and the doc has a lot of experience in this area...." Jack stared at him in consternation.

"You mean, I might actually get to be with her when the kid comes out?" he said, barely willing to acknowledge the possibility.

"Maybe. Come on, let's go back in there and see what Dr. Marx really thinks. That means no intimidation tactics from _you."_

Jack sighed heavily.

"Maybe I should just stay out of it altogether. I'm in way over my head, here, Bruce. You're better at this stuff, you can make a rational decision...."

"You're the father, Jack. It's _your_ family. Your doing fine, don't worry...you and Rachel, somehow--you make a great team." Bruce couldn't believe he was saying the words, but the former madman clearly needed a vote of confidence, and the strange thing was...Bruce really meant what he said.

Suddenly, they heard Rachel cry out.

Jack, now oblivious to his injuries, yanked open the bedroom door and tore inside.

"_What's wrong??" _Jack spoke sharply.

"Contraction..._shit!" _Rachel gasped.

Dr. Marx smiled. "Let me check your progress, my dear...."

The doctor did another examination, and turned to look at the two men who were now hovering over his shoulder. He had a look of pleased surprise on his face.

"Well! This is most unusual. Rachel, you're now dilated to five. That's _very _good progress in a short amount of time, and..." The doctor's observation was cut short by another cry of pain from the mother to be.

"_Dammit, _Jack--whose _fucking_ idea _was_ this?!" asked Rachel, through gritted teeth.

"Uh...all yours, lovely lady," said Jack, now smiling slightly. He looked at the doctor.

"So...what does this mean?"

"Well...it's beginning to look as though the baby wants to come out right here, right now. I think we can do this the old-fashioned way after all...let's get ready."

The doctor barked orders and a semi-sterile environment was hastily created.

The door creaked open and a small boy peeked in, with Alfred close behind.

"Is Mommy ok?" asked Jacob querulously.

Jack quickly went to his son's side, took his hand and led him to the window.

"Hey, pal! Yeah, Mom's doin' ok. Your little sister's decided to come out and meet you, isn't that cool?"

"I guess so...but, Mommy sounded hurt...."

"Yeah...well, remember, the baby lives in Mom's tummy until it's time to get born, right? Don't you think that if a person was trying to get out of _your _tummy that it would hurt a little bit, huh?" Jack playfully poked at his son's belly, making him giggle delightedly.

"Yeah...." acknowledged Jacob reasonably .

"Yeah, it would. That's why we're all going to do everything we can to make this easy for Mom and the doctor, right? So, how about you go hang out with Alfred and as soon as the baby comes, we'll get you up here to see her right away, how does that sound?"

"Ok, Daddy. I just want Mommy to be all right."

"Me too, son. And, she will be. Don't worry, ok?"

"Ok." The pair smiled at each other for a long moment, then Jack gathered his son into his one useful arm as best he could before sending him back to Alfred's care.

Time stretched on...the doctor monitored Rachel's and the baby's conditions, and Jack settled in next to his wife, murmuring encouragement to her and holding her hand. As the contractions gained in strength, frequency and regularity, Rachel became increasingly agitated and angry. It gave Bruce no end of amusement to see his old adversary wince in pain every time Rachel's contractions--coming every three minutes, now--caused her to violently jerk and squeeze his good hand in a grip of steel.

"Damn it, Jack, if your dick ever comes near me again without a condom, I'm going to goddamn _kill _you," Rachel groaned.

"Umm, don't worry, babe, I'll fucking _glue_ one on after this little adventure, maybe five or six of 'em...hey, Wayne, come on over here and let her cripple _you_ for a while, huh?"

"Sorry, Jack, you wanted to fully experience the wonder of birth, I wouldn't dream of taking away a single second of your bliss...."

"Can't you give her something for the pain?" Jack plaintively asked the doctor.

"_NO DRUGS_," Rachel pronounced between clenched teeth. "This baby's facing enough challenges, I don't want it to--"

"_Her_," corrected Jack. Rachel glared at him before continuing.

"...I don't want _her _to be slowed down with a bunch of chemicals in her system...."

"A very sound decision," said the doctor approvingly.

More long minutes ticked by.

Suddenly, Rachel made an outcry that was a combination of a scream of agony and a groan of black horror torn from deep inside her body. The sound sent chills down the spines of both the Bat and the Clown, two men who had heard--and inflicted--more than their share of the sounds that human beings in pain can make, and they tentatively snuck a glance of worried bewilderment at each other. Neither had ever heard such a sound of primitive, hopeless distress in their lives.

"What's...uh, what's the _matter_, dear?" asked Jack uncertainly.

"MY FUCKING _PELVIS_ JUST SEPARATED, _THAT'S_ WHAT'S THE MATTER! I CAN'T _STAND _THIS, GET ME _DRUGS_, RIGHT _NOW_, you MOTHER-_FUCK_ING _BASTARD!!!" _ordered Rachel irrationally, her eyes wild, her grip on Jack's now-bruised hand almost unbearable.

Jack gave the doctor as intimidating a look as he could muster and said "_Give_ her something, _NOW!"_

Dr. Marx straightened after doing another check on Rachel's progress, smiling cheerfully. He was now on solid ground and in reality, Jack was acting no differently than any other "normal" father-to-be that he had faced over the years, and he was unfazed by the criminal's unspoken threat.

"I'm afraid we've crossed the threshold on _that._ We're about to have a baby and Rachel's going to need every bit of focus for pushing. It's too late for pain medication now."

**"**_No! _No, Jack, _do_ something, I can't survive this, I need to be unconscious, tell him, tell him I need something _right now_, tell him, Jack!" In the aftermath of the wracking, wrenching pain, Rachel was reduced to pleading weakly like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal.

Jack glanced back at the doctor who firmly shook his head and said, "Actually, my dear, the worst is over. You won't have any pain stronger than that during the birthing process," he assured her.

Jack took a deep breath and lightly ran his hand over his wife's strained face.

"It's gonna be ok, angel. I'm right here, do your worst to me if it helps--look, I got a couple of spots with no lacerations on 'em, go for it...." he teased gently.

"Oh, Jack...." she said brokenly, clinging to him.

"You're doin' so good, you're my favorite little tough guy, you know that? Hell, I'd put you up against anybody, who's that guy that bites people's ears off?"

"Mike Tyson? "answered Rachel in a miserable little-girl voice.

"Mike Tyson, yeah, I'd have you go a few rounds with him and you'd lay him out flat, TKO, no problem, wouldn't ya?"

"Yeah...."

"Yeah! So, what's one little baby got that you can't take, huh?"

"OH!" Another strong contraction wracked her, but she found the doctor was right, it wasn't nearly as excruciating as the earlier pain, and the doctor performed another exam, then announced that Rachel was in full labor.

"It won't be long now," Dr. Marx said, beaming. "But, don't start pushing yet."

"But, I NEED to!" hollered Rachel. The urge to push was almost overwhelming.

"Don't push, sweetie," ordered her husband. "Listen to the doc, he's gotten us this far...here, squeeze my hand instead, there're a few uncrushed bones left, you don't want to leave the job unfinished...."

"AUGHHH!" Rachel screamed, focusing her need into clamping down on Jack's hand, making him squeeze his eyes shut in pain, which in turn caused the bruised areas on his face to throb anew. "Good thing I was abused as a child, otherwise this would kind of piss me off," he cheerily quipped in an aside to Bruce, who grinned with more sympathy than he thought the clown deserved, but he was impressed that Jack was keeping the Joker part of his persona so well in check.

From his vantage point between Rachel's legs, the doctor suddenly announced, "The baby's crowning! All right, Rachel, the time has come to PUSH."

Rachel gratefully responded, bearing down with every bit of strength she had.

"Good, again!"

The process was repeated once, twice, three times, but when the doctor again barked "PUSH!" Rachel lay back in exhaustion.

"I _can't_..." she gasped weakly.

"You have to, we're almost there," directed Dr. Marx.

"I _CAN'T!" _Rachel protested, almost crying.

"Come on, baby, I'll help you," said Jack. He slipped his arm under hers and pulled her slightly forward, then got behind her and pressed his weight against her back. At the same time, she forced herself to make one last, strength draining effort, and Jack saw the doctor jerk with effort as he pulled the tiny baby from Rachel's body.

"It's a girl!" he announced.

"Oh, thank God...." Rachel groaned as she lay back, exhausted and shaking.

Jack hesitantly got up and moved down to where the baby was being tended to by the doctor. The entire room was still and quiet, heavy with anticipation.

Abruptly, a raw cry pierced the silence as the newborn made her first sound in her new world. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, and the doctor looked at Jack.

"Would you like to cut the umbilical cord, son?"

"Uh...yeah, ok." The Joker--the clown, the criminal, the new father--reached deep within his purple pin-striped trousers and brought out a knife. Bruce groaned in exasperation.

"Dammit, I _knew_ I couldn't trust you!" he exclaimed bitterly.

"What? You know me, I'm always prepared," said the Joker mildly.

The doctor indicated a bottle of sterilization fluid and Jack carefully cleaned the blade before gingerly slicing through the thick membrane attaching the baby to her mother. The doctor smiled and had Bruce go off to the bathroom to prepare a sink full of warm water to bathe the squalling infant in before handing her to Rachel.

Jack returned to Rachel's side and cradled her to him as best he could.

"You're a champ, you know that? A fucking champ. I think I'll take you on the road, I'll be as rich as Wayne here, betting on you!" He continued to murmur sweet, funny little words of encouragement and admiration into her ear and she nuzzled closer to him, catching her breath, trying to grasp the enormity of the experience she had just been through.

"Is the baby ok, Jack?" she asked softly.

"Uh...I think so. Hey, Doc, how's that kid comin', we wanna take a look at our handiwork!" he called.

The doctor came in with the squirming infant wrapped in a soft towel and placed her in Rachel's arms.

"For being a little early, she's doing wonderfully," Dr. Marx assured the new parents.

"Oh, my God, she looks just like you!" Rachel gasped, amazed, as she carefully counted fingers and toes.

"She looks like my grandfather," Jack sniffed critically.

"Oh, she does not! Unless your grandfather looked like an adorable little princess, did he?"

Jack smirked in relief and amusement, and after one last check that his wife was relatively at ease and his daughter was outfitted with the traditional arrangement of facial features and the correct number of appendages, he stood and lumbered painfully back to the window. Bruce saw his shoulders slump, then shudder as his head sank low onto his chest. The vigilante sighed and reluctantly made his way to stand by his former arch-nemesis, leaving Rachel to be tended to by the doctor.

"You ok?"

"Yeah...you kind of have to envy the male praying mantis, though."

"Huh?"

"The female bites his head off after mating. Imagine--you get your rocks off, and then? Sheer oblivion. What a way to go. Lucky little bastards're spared all this _stress."_

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You're called the Joker for a reason, aren't you? Admit it, you wouldn't have missed a minute of any of this."

"I dunno, Arkham's beginning to look pretty good to me...."

"Rachel really _would_ kill you...."

Jack turned and gave Bruce an honest smile.

"Hey, you want to be the kid's godfather?"

Bruce stared in amazement at the Joker.

"You're _kidding. _We hate each other."

"We do? Oh. Well, ok. Never mind. Just thought you might like to be a positive influence on the poor little thing's life. You know, show her what a man who's NOT dosed up on Thorazine all the time looks like...."

"You're going to be fine. Apparently, you're a good father to Jacob, so--"

"But, girl's are different! I want her to grow up and marry somebody like _you, _not like meeee! How's she ever going to know what to look for if you're never around?"

For a moment, the thought of being "Uncle Bruce" to another of the Joker's children struck the billionaire as being unbelievably absurd, but the sight of the battered man before him struggling to maintain his sanity reminded him that he really could serve as some sort of "alternate" influence in their lives. Maybe Jack had a good point.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, fine, I'll be her godfather! What, exactly, does that entail?"

"Oh, I don't know, attending her christening, coming to school plays, sending greeting cards with lots of money? You can do that."

"Yes, I can do that," the billionaire said with a grin.

"Jack?" Rachel called. "The doc and I are all done, can you get Jacob up here? And Alfred?"

"I'll go," assured Bruce, glad for a break. He headed downstairs and found the pair in the kitchen, busily assembling a ramp for some toy cars.

"Gentlemen, there's someone upstairs who wants to meet you," Bruce announced. Alfred looked up, a happy smile on his face, and Jacob was already out of the room, dashing up the stairs at a break-neck speed.

"You survived, Master Wayne?"

"I guess I did. I'll never be the same, Alfred. The Joker...Jack...somehow, I don't think he'll ever be out of my life completely," he mused ruefully.

"Presumably, that means neither will Rachel, eh, sir?"

"Yeah, and that's a _good _thing...you know what's weird about all this?"

"What's that, sir?"

"I kind of feel like I've got a family again. Besides you, I mean."

"Of course, sir. I know what you mean. I haven't spent this much time in the company of a three-year old in a very long time, and I have to say, it's been quite nice. Exhausting, but nice."

Bruce nodded and clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see a baby."

The two men made their way upstairs.

* * *

Five days later, Jack, Rachel, Jacob and the new baby, Sophie, were standing with Bruce, Alfred, and Jim Gordon, preparing to board Bruce's private jet, bound for Mexico. Jack's face was pale and thin, one arm was in a sling, and he still limped from one vicious blow to his anatomy or another. He held his son's small hand tightly in his, preventing the adventurous child from running off to investigate other aircraft parked around the private airfield.

Rachel, still feeling the after-effects of her recent ordeal both physically and emotionally, held the sleeping newborn securely in her arms. After almost losing her entire family, she felt as if she would never put this baby down, would never relax without having Jack, Jacob and Sophie close within her sight or earshot at all times. She knew this anxiousness would eventually fade, but she thought she just might accompany Jack to his next therapy appointment and ask for an emergency session with the doctor. Couldn't hurt.

Bruce Wayne watched as the pilot helped Alfred load the families' bags into the storage compartment and found himself welling up with emotion. Not that he wasn't glad, _ecstatic_ really, to see the Joker get the hell out of his house and out of his city, indeed, out of the entire _country_, but still...after all the dread, all the disaster, the pressure and the excitement, there had been a few days in which his houseguests had simply...been there.

He'd gotten to spend long hours chatting with Rachel, awkwardly helping her care for her precious new baby. He knew he'd always love her, and his admiration for her strength and humor and intelligence grew even more as he listened to her stories and watched her interact with her adorable, headstrong little son, who would stand solemnly before him and ask question after question about Batman and all his cars and gadgets and adventures.

Sometimes, the thought that those could have been _his_ children, that she could have been _his _wife, struck him like a fist to the belly, and he almost felt like throwing himself at her, begging her to come to her senses and ditch the insane clown, to stay with him so they could finally start the life together that they should have had in the first place.

But then, said clown would amble in from a nap, bellowing loudly for his wife, noisily kissing first her, then the tiny baby, and deposit himself into a chair as if he owned the place, and Bruce would see Rachel's eyes light up and a deep smile cross her lips. Jacob would unceremoniously throw himself in his father's lap, eliciting a highly theatrical groan from the man, and then something _electric_ would happen in the room, an energy--joking, teasing remarks flew back and forth, the TV got switched on but no one watched, a pillow would be thrown across the room--by whom? _at_ whom?...Laughter....Did that energy come from madness? Or love? Bruce couldn't put his finger on it, but there was no question...they were _Jack's_ family.

He smiled a bit to think of the times he'd faced off with the grease-painted madman, one hand clutching him by the front of his idiotic outfit--who the hell ever dressed like that??--the other fist reared back, ready to deliver the next punch, and he found it hard to reconcile that...that maniacal _creature_ with the tall, slender blond-haired man standing quietly before him, ready to depart at last.

"Well, Wayne...I guess everything worked out in the end. Sooo, good news, I've decided not to eviscerate you. Merry _Christmas...."_

"Gee, thanks. I feel bad, I only got _you_ a tie," Bruce responded acerbically.

"Yeah...well, so long! Pity we can't hang around to see a couple of shows, you and me coulda taken in a game or two...oh, wait, I'm a wanted man, guess that wouldn't have worked out so great, huh, Commissioner?" he asked, turning to Jim with a grin.

"Actually, Jack, I'm not one to arrest a dead man."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah, as far as the official record is concerned, the Joker died on his way to Arkham, remember? Since then, no one's ever made a police report about anyone matching his description--and even if they did, it would be hard to verify his identity, seeing that I just found out this morning that all of the Joker's documents, both computer files and hard copies, have been mysteriously wiped out of all public records." Jim glared accusingly at Jack, who looked genuinely bewildered.

"Well, I didn't have anything to do with that!" he protested. Then a thought...Scalini! Oh, yeah...he'd jokingly given him some shit about letting Bruce find out about the hit he'd ordered on Maroni, and Al had promised to do something nice for him sometime. Well, this was it...he resisted breaking into a broad smile and simply gave both Jim and Bruce a look of wide-eyed innocence.

Rachel stepped up, and with a happy tone in her voice said, "So, Jack, if you covered up your scars and changed your appearance a little bit, we could come back to visit Gotham whenever we wanted to! That's _fantastic, _Jim! Bruce? Isn't that great??"

All three men were staring at her in utter consternation, when Bruce broke the tension by laughing uproariously.

"Rachel, honey, your idea of 'great' and mine differ quite a bit...but, yes, it would be nice to see my goddaughter once in a while....What do you think, Jack? You want to be my houseguest again sometime?"

Jack gave him a baleful look and shook his head adamantly. "No _thanks, _there's not a fucking thing in this town that I want...whole goddamn berg can fall into the ocean as far as I'm concerned...you want to see the kid, come take a Mexican vacation, I'll show ya a good time...come on, kiddoes, let's get on this bucket of bolts and head for home, huh?"

Rachel gave him an sorrowful look, but said in a whispered aside to Bruce, "Don't worry, I'll get him to change his mind...I bet you'll be seeing a lot of us!" and she flashed him a mischievous smile just before stepping onto the plane.

"Wonderful," said Bruce ruefully. Yeah, that's what he needed, more of the Joker in his life....

Alfred returned from helping with the luggage, and the three Gotham residents stood by as the plane began to taxi away. Bruce and Alfred saw little Jacob excitedly waving goodbye through a window, and they returned the farewell. After the plane was in the air, Alfred looked at Bruce.

"I've a bit of a catch in my throat Master Wayne. I'd never have believed it, but I'm sorry to see them go...."

"Yeah...well, I have a feeling we'll see them again someday. Hopefully, under better circumstances."

"I hope I NEVER see that son-of-a-bitch _clown_ again," spat Jim irritably.

"I hope I don't either....Jack's not so bad, though...." said Bruce, mostly to himself.

Bruce and Alfred got in their car, and Jim headed back to the office. Back to normal, or what passed for it in Gotham.

* * *

Rachel watched the ground below them recede into the distance. Although she wished they could have actually spent some "fun" time in Gotham--if that was even possible--she was grateful as hell to be leaving, heading home with her family intact if not unaffected by the terrible events of the days before. She cast a sideways glance at Jack, sitting next to her with a dour expression on his face. She felt certain that months of therapy had been set back and she'd noticed he'd been taking extra doses of his anti-anxiety medications every day. She placed her hand on his and gently squeezed. He looked at her in surprise and smiled.

"Hey, watch it there, mean girl. I just about got the use of that hand back after you used it like a stress ball for a few hours...."

"Sorry about that! At least I didn't grab your balls, which is what had occurred to me originally...."

Jack grimaced and said, "Well, that might have solved the birth control problem...."

"I think _she'll _solve the birth control problem," said Rachel as she looked down into the face of their sleeping daughter. Jack put his arm around her and peered at the tiny bundle as well.

"We did that?" he asked, pointing at Sophie..

"Yep. On purpose, this time."

"Hmm. Well, I like her."

"Good, me too."

"I like _you, _too."

Rachel smiled teasingly at him.

"Just can't say the other 'L' word, can you, tough guy?"

Jack stared at her for a long moment. He thought of her, helpless but unbroken, tied to a chair with Harvey Dent standing before her, a gun pressed to her belly. He thought of her gentle touch as she wiped the sweat, blood, and the makeup from his battered face. He thought of her, wracked with pain, giving one last push to send their daughter into the world, when she had no strength left at all. He smiled, and Rachel could see a kind of peace in his eyes that almost made her cry.

"I love you, Rachel," Jack said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And don't fucking forget it."

He tiredly settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. Rachel shifted Sophie up onto her shoulder, pleased that she'd managed to get him to say the word "love" in connection with "you", a maddeningly rare occurrance, and she had some moments of blessed unconsciousness before she had to rouse herself to help Jacob fish a small toy out of his backpack.

_"Rachel Dawes, Gotham's Assistant District Attorney," _she thought in amusement, _"married to the Joker, Gotham's most wanted criminal...." _She looked at her son, wild blond curls falling around his face, cheerfully humming to himself as he played. So like his father...yet so different. _What would Jack have been like, if he'd been raised by two loving parents? If he'd been spared years of unimaginable abuse and neglect? _she wondered sadly. And, where would he be now, if not for the little spark of love left in his battered heart, waiting to be kindled for a tiny baby born three years ago?

And, where would she and Harvey be?

Rachel nestled as close to her husband as possible and allowed herself to drift into nap mode once again. She didn't want to think about any more bad things. She was going home, with clothes to wash, a nursery to set up, and doctor appointments to make.

She was going home, her children and the man she loved were with her, and that was all that mattered.

The End.


End file.
